


Damned if you do

by Askellie (NadaNine)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Fontcest, Healing Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Non-gory dismemberment, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sorta Somnophilia, Soul Sex, Tentacles, vines count as tentacles rite?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-06-04 11:04:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6655450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadaNine/pseuds/Askellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sans would do anything to keep his brother safe, and Papyrus would do anything to assure his brother he was loved.</p><p>Or, in which magical healing sex is a thing Monsters can do, and Flowey ruins absolutely everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have come to the conclusion that what I need more of in my life is smol skeletons suffering. It brightens my day.
> 
> Please note: despite Sans having the very best of intentions, the first chapter contains non-consensual (or at least extremely dubiously consensual) incest, and he is painfully aware of that even if Papyrus wouldn't ever think of it that way.

Something was wrong.

Sans jolted out of his nap, lurching up on one elbow in a graceless jerk of momentum before pausing, confused at himself. He was in his room, alone but for the mute company of the sock colony growing peacefully across the carpet. He listened carefully, but the house was still and peaceful. There was nothing out of place, and certainly nothing to have prompted that sudden rush of sudden, certain unease.

Just to prove the silly feeling wrong, he indulged in a particularly obscene yawn, rubbing a bony palm over his eye sockets. Maybe he'd just been dreaming...? But no, he couldn't remember any of the usual haunting, hazy impressions that liked to linger on the edge of his consciousness like memories he couldn't quite recall clearly. Actually, he felt like it had been an exceptionally pleasant, dreamless sleep for a change, which made his senseless awakening all the more annoying. 

He should just go back to sleep. He wanted to go back to sleep. He flopped down emphatically, resolving to give his heavy limbs and bleary thoughts an opportunity to do exactly that . He closed his eyes. He curled more comfortably around the crumpled mound his blanket had somehow formed into during the last few nights of heavy-duty sleeping.

...Nope. It wasn't happening. 

With a sigh that was more defeated than frustrated, he bravely scaled the blanket-pile and allowed the other side of its cottony slope to roll him out of the bed. The short drop to the floor was cushioned by a few brave citizens of the sock colony that had wandered out onto the open pasture of his rug. He gave himself a few moments just to see if this new position might be all his body needed to be convinced to resettle, but the floor was no more reassuring than the bed had been. With another sigh he staggered to his feet, peeling one particularly clingy sock off the back of his t-shirt.

His arduous waking routine was rarely a quiet one, and this was normally the point where Papyrus would storm in to chastise him about the mess or the puzzles he hadn't recalibrated in over a month now or-

Huh. Where was his brother? Suddenly the empty silence of the house seemed a bit more disconcerting. There wasn't any real cycle of day or night down in the underground, but most monsters became attuned to the natural rhythm of the cavern. It was late enough that Papyrus should have been back from even his most convoluted patrol of the forest perimeter. 

Maybe he'd gotten sidetracked with his puzzles again? Papyrus seemed to spend half his time diligently improving them, and the other half deliberately sabotaging them to make them more 'fair' for any human that might eventually stumble upon them. It was a continuous process, and every so often Papyrus would get stumped with his own ingenuous improvements and refuse to leave until he'd found a proper solution...or at least until he found a way to bypass his own handiwork. 

Sans wasn't worried, exactly. His brother wasn't a babybones any more, particularly since undergoing Undyne's training (even if most of it had been confined to the kitchen). It would take more than the casual dangers of Snowdin to get the better of him.

No, it wasn't worry. He was...bored? No, that wasn't quite right. Hungry, maybe? Yeah, that would work. Papyrus would totally get a kick out of being told Sans had opted for his brother's spaghetti instead of his usual evening meal at Grillby's, and then Sans wouldn't have to bring up the knot of tension under his collarbone that probably didn't mean anything anyway. A perfect plan.

* * *

He could have taken a shortcut, of course, but there was every chance he'd just miss his brother heading back into town. Besides, shortcuts were best used for emergencies or casual japery, and employing it now would discredit his very convincing nonchalance towards his brother being home just a little bit late. It wasn't that unusual...well, except that Papyrus was very particular about his routine in the way that Sans absolutely wasn't. Sans was usually the one who needed to be dragged home whenever he lost track of time at the bar, or fell asleep at his sentry post.

His last shift had ended hours ago, but there was a slim chance Papyrus had gone looking for him out there anyway. Papyrus didn't have a proper station of his own. All the existing posts were already manned by the royal guard's canine squadron, or by Sans himself. He'd consoled his brother with the assurance that The Great Papyrus was far too important for simple guard duty, and when that hadn't quite soothed his desperate desire to prove himself useful to Undyne, they'd built him his own personal guard house out of cardboard and corrugated iron. Papyrus manned it intermittently, but he was really much too active to find it very satisfying. He spent much more time attending to his puzzles, or patrolling the woods. 

Sans set out on the path to the woods at a casual, unhurried pace. He passed Doggo who was lazing in front of the inn, smoking one last dog treat before heading home for the day. Sans waved in greeting, and Doggo returned the favour by nodding to the space Sans had occupied a moment before. His post was the next furthest out, after Sans's, which meant Papyrus didn't really have any excuse to still be out in the woods. Sans shook that knowledge off before he could dwell too long on it, but the knot in his chest seemed to tighten incrementally anyway.

“Hey, Doggo. You seen my bro today?”

Doggo took a surly huff of his treat. “Saw? Nope. But I think I heard him yapping out there by the bridge a while ago.”

Sans shifted deliberately from foot to foot, giving Doggo something to focus on. “Yapping?”

Doggo shrugged. “I think he was talking to someone? But they weren't moving either, so I dunno.”

“Thanks.”

At least that explained why Papyrus might have lost track of time out in the woods. He was all too easy to draw into a conversation, especially with someone who might be turned into a potential friend. Sans rather hoped it wasn't any of the teenagers that had decided to strike off on their own a few months back and live in the woods. They weren't bad kids, exactly, but his brother was very impressionable, and he'd already gained enough bewildering habits from Undyne who was arguably the most respected monster in the underground. The idea of Papyrus developing a rebellious streak was hilarious and awful.

He didn't bother to say goodbye to Doggo before sidestepping into one of the little creases of magic that served as the doorway to his shortcuts. A spluttered curse followed behind him as Doggo realised he'd disappeared, and Sans grinned. Laziness was also a perfectly justifiable excuse to bend the laws of physics, and the walk to the bridge was definitely a longer one than he cared to make just for casual exercise.

His brother would be easy to spot, if he were around. The bright red cape that was an integral feature of his battle body, and it stood out a mile in the pale landscape of Snowdin. Sans squinted, and sure enough he caught a glimpse of crimson peeking out from between the trees on the far side of the gorge. Brightening, he set out across the bridge, hands deep in his pockets and shoulders hunched against the brisk gust of wind that made the outcropping feel more precarious than it was. Papyrus's detailed painting of wooden slats across the rockface didn't help much with that illusion, but it did give the bridge a feel of rustic charm that the granite alone hadn't offered.

“Hey, bro!” he called out, hoping to catch his brother's attention, and feeling a little perturbed that Papyrus didn't immediately materialise. Normally he'd bound towards his brother's summons, eager as a puppy. Had the wind not carried his voice properly? It was certainly blowing hard enough that Papyrus's scarf was whipping enthusiastically, a bright beacon beyond the treeline. “Papyrus-!”

His voice trailed off as he finally stepped close enough to see why his brother wasn't responding....he wasn't even _there_. The bright red scarf was tangled up carelessly in a branch, its owner absent.

That was...not right. Papyrus loved every piece of his battle body, but particularly that scarf because it was perfect for heroic draping and dramatic posing and generally looking as cool as the Great Papyrus should. Whenever the dangling ends threatened to get in the way of his puzzle-crafting Papyrus only wound it more tightly around his neck bones. He never took it off. 

That low thrum of discord in the back of Sans mind was rising to a fever pitch. He lurched forward and grabbed the scarf before the wind could free it from the branch, frantically examining it for any clues (no tears, no dust...that was good, right?) before distractedly winding it around his own neck to keep it safe for now. 

“Papyrus!” he called with decidedly more force this time, fighting the wind. Doggo had said he'd heard his brother out here. The scarf was proof enough he was looking in the right place. His brother couldn't have gone far, right?

With that in mind, Sans scrutinised the snow on the ground, wishing he had one of the dogs here whose nose would tell a far more accurate story than anything Sans could guess from furrows in the snow. There was nothing leading back to the bridge besides the shallow trench of his own shuffling steps. Off to one side, leading from the outposts he could see clear indentations of his brother's boots, spread neatly and evenly to suggest he'd been strutting at his usual proud gate, casual and unhurried, unthreatened. 

_It could be nothing. Maybe the wind just snatched his scarf away. Maybe he was out here looking for it and that was the reason why he wasn't home and he was going to feel like an idiot getting himself worked up over nothing..._

He wanted to believe that. It should have been easy – it was a much more likely story than imagining any shadowy threats in Snowdin, of all places, where the major source of daily disruption came from Papyrus himself and whatever cheerfully outrageous schemes he came up with to 'improve' the town's defensive perimeter. 

But something had felt off lately. It was just a feeling that came to him sometimes, abstract and ephemeral, like something wasn't quite right. Sometimes it coalesced into something more tangible, like a glimmer of deja vu or a sudden instinct that had him reacting to something without thinking.

And right now, instinct was telling him something was terribly, terribly wrong. 

There was a large scuffed area of snow just beyond the tree that had caught his brother's scarf. Sans spent a few anxious moments trying to decipher it, but there was too much disturbance. All he could figure out was that the broad, formless tracks ploughed deeper into the forest, at least giving him a direction to head in. 

“PAPYRUS!”

There was a sharp note to his voice that definitely would have brought his brother running if he'd heard it. The fact that he didn't hear anything in response, least of all the rambunctious presence of his brother made him pick up his pace, following the scuffed tracks in the snow. 

He still couldn't figure out exactly what had happened, but there were other signs that would have put him on edge even if his instincts weren't already screaming at him. One of the trees off the side of the path bore a deep, raw notch still oozing with fresh sap. A outcrop of ice and rock looked like it had exploded outwards, half-covering the trail and leaving Sans fumbling for a few precious minutes before he picked it up again on the other side of a small hill. Something violent had definitely happened, and the most telling sign of all, when he rounded the sharp bend of a thick wall of trees, was the sight of one of his brother's bone attacks lodged haphazardly in a snow drift.

“Damnit,” he growled under his breath, eyes flicking back and forth for any sign of movement amongst the forest. If the bone was still here then his brother couldn't be far, but...

There was something wrong with it. Sans approached the bone cautiously, trying to figure out why the sight of it struck such a distraught note in him. Something about the shape? The size? The odd shadow bunched at its base that looked a little too much like... 

"Oh no," he said, as if the words might have the power to make his sudden, horrifying realisation untrue. "No, no..."

It wasn't one of his brother's attacks sticking out of the ground; it was one of his actual bones. His left femur, still partially encased in the dark leggings of his battle body. Sans lunged for it, valiantly digging it out of the snow, fingers pawing through the drift for more but the femur was alone. The fabric was frayed at both ends from where it had been savagely torn from his brother's hip. Everything below the knee was missing.

'Papyrus!' He called frantically, because if his brother were dead the bones would have been dust. He stumbled forward, following the wide path of churned, disrupted snow which now told a far more brutal story.

He found three more pieces of his brother's body - humerus, radius, tibia -before he finally spotted the peak of his brothers skull half buried beneath the light snowfall. If he'd waited much longer to begin searching, he might never have found it.

He dropped his growing armful of bones next to his brother's body with desperate haste, but it was with infinite gentleness that he carefully unearthed Papyrus's head and torso from the snow. His breath was shaking with a mixture of rage and relief, because while all of Papyrus's limbs were missing, miraculously his skull and his spine were still intact, it was enough to hold together the dregs of his HP, keeping him just barely alive.

"Papyrus?" He tried, giving his brother a careful shake, but Papyrus was limp and unresponsive. He was unconscious, and Sans couldn't blame him. The joints between a skeleton's bones were held together with magic rather than flesh, but it would have taken a considerable amount of force to break that bond, and if Papyrus had been resisting it would have been extremely painful.

For a moment, Sans had to pause and swallow back a shudder of pure fury that someone could be cruel enough to do this to his harmless, earnest little brother. To tear his body apart as if it were nothing more than a toy to be played with, and to discard the broken pieces so casually. Whoever it was, Sans made a silent promise to return the favour in kind.

But that kind of thinking wouldn't help his brother now, so Sans banished those dark thoughts to the back of his mind. With a steadying breath he reached towards the pile of bones beside him and brought Papyrus's humerus in line between his scapula and his clavicle.

"Come on, bro," he murmured, though the reassurance was more for his own benefit the Papyrus's. "Just gotta pull yourself together."

He desperately hoped his brother might rouse to berate him for his horrible sense of humour, but there was nothing but awful silence full of excruciating expectation. He could feel the bone in his hands humming slightly, trembling like the end of a magnet, trying to slot itself back into place at his brothers shoulder, but after a moment the light tug of force faded and Sans made a noise of distress. His brother's magic was too weak for his body to reform properly. The little that remained was working hard to keep the remnants of Papyrus's soul together, the trauma of whatever event that damaged him still threatening to shatter what was left.

He was fading, and Sans had never felt more helpless.

He didn't dare to move his brother. His broken body was too fragile, and in any case he'd have to spend far too long hunting around to gather up the rest of Papyrus's pieces if he wanted any hope of reassembling his brother's body. There was really only one thing he could do, and the choice wasn't a pleasant one, but one look at his brother's body was enough to galvanise him. Sans reached a hand to cover his sternum and forced himself to focus. 

Calling forth his soul felt both uncomfortable and unfamiliar. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd needed to do this, but most likely he'd done it somewhere safe and enclosed and private, not out in the middle of the forest over his brother's unconscious body with some unknown assailant potentially still in the vicinity. There was more than a little resistance, and he had to strain a little harder than he'd have liked to convince his soul to coalesce inside his rib cage.

"Okay," he breathed, trying to steel himself for the next step. "Out you come."

He reached awkwardly up into his chest cavity, moving as slowly as his panic permitted, and even so he flinched and hissed at the contact of his finger bones against the fragile tissue of his soul. It was fluttering wildly, pulsing with all the surging emotions he was trying not to pay attention to, and as always with his soul unveiled and in hand he could feel himself, his emotions, twice as intensely. It was an especially vulnerable act for a monster to bring forth their soul. Sans needed little reminder of exactly why he preferred not to do this.

But he would do _anything_ for Papyrus, and at that though the jittering soul in his hand calmed slightly. He could feel his love for his brother, warm and enveloping and honestly a little overwhelming in its intensity. It was overlaid with the weight of every moment they'd spent together, Papyrus with his endlessly brilliant enthusiasm and his blind sincerity and the loving exasperation with which he tolerated Sans even on his worst days. His brother was the foundation of his whole world.

Healing was a rare art amongst monsters, since it required being able to replenish a patient's physical matter and very few monsters had much of that to spare. Usually only Boss monsters, with their more robust bodies and souls, could handle the strain of it and only after a great deal of training and practice. Sans had none of those qualities, but what he did have was enough knowledge of monsters, magic and science to have figured out ways to cheat the system. There were always shortcuts for those bored, lazy or desperate enough to have need of them. Of course he'd never precisely _tested_ this idea, but the theory was sound.

He leaned over Papyrus's limbless torso and gently pulled one of the cracked plates of his battle body out of the way. It was only a thin sheet of tin Sans had carefully shaped and painted. It wasn't really meant to act as proper armour, and its poor craftsmanship had shown in how easily some unknown force had sheared it down the middle. Sans had little difficulty moving it to expose Papyrus's ribs and then with utmost care he placed his soul down on his brother's sternum. He had to hold it in place; it kept wanting to fly back into the safety of his rib cage. 

“I gotcha bro,” he whispered, because he needed the sound of his own voice to steady him, to reassure himself that he was doing this for a damn good reason because he was pretty sure his idea would never become common practice due to the number of unspoken taboos he was about to break. It took two tries to convince his arm to move, to press down ever so softly and stroke the surface of his soul with the bony palm of his hand. 

Immediately his spine twisted, his body convulsing in blindly overwhelming _sensation_. “A-Ahh!”

The strangled noise escaped him before he could silence it. His magic acted immediately, flaring and heating his bones, making his legs tremble and threatening to make him crumple over Papyrus's body. God, his soul was so _sensitive_. His persistent neglect of it probably wasn't helping matters, nor were the fact that his instincts were screaming DANGER WRONG NOT AROUND PAPYRUS OH FUCK at him.

He hadn't done this sort of thing of his own volution in years...not since Papyrus had become old enough to ask uncomfortable questions and Sans had realised the walls of their home were too thin for him to get carried away. And that was fine; he'd found he didn't really crave it or miss it except in a careless, abstract sort of way. He'd given up on those whimsical, youthful fantasies of having someone who might want to touch his soul given that he didn't particularly like touching it much himself. It was too personal; there was too much of himself he didn't like for it to feel as pleasurable as it was meant to. 

So he tried not to think about how he could feel his own compounded fear pulsing with each beat of his soul. He deafened himself to the self-recriminations, the guilt and shame, and just focused on that sparking feeling of excitement and warmth tingling over his bones. He only needed this to feel good enough to bring his soul to that final, clenching finish that would force it to discharge what little matter his body could safely spare so he could give it to his brother.

It was the same act that, under very different circumstances, would allow two or more willing monsters to join their essence and magic to form a new soul – a child. Of course, with magic, intent was everything. All those contributing had to want it, so there was no chance he was going to be inadvertently spawning any new baby skeletons, but that output of magic and energy and desire could be used for other things...or so Sans had theorised. 

He just had to want his brother to live, and frankly, wanting that was all too easy. 

Sans could feel magic beginning to coil in his soul – not his own calm, cyan essence, but the kind of raw, unformed power that was much more malleable but very difficult to control. That was exactly what he needed to coax into his brother's body, like a much more concentrated form of monster food, to restore the strength that his injuries had stolen from him...only now that he was nearly ready, Sans realised he wasn't actually sure how to convince Papyrus's soul to absorb it. 

When he'd originally envisioned this worst-case scenario, he'd imagined the unfortunate recipient of the procedure to at least be conscious, and to somehow be able to guide his magic to where it needed to go. He hadn't exactly figured out how to complete it on his own, but he didn't have much time to figure it out. He could feel his brother's soul flickering weakly, starting to dim, and his sudden heart-wrenching dismay sent a dizzying feedback through his soul that nearly broke his concentration.

“Damnit,” he wheezed, trying to keep the magic boiling in his soul constrained, refusing to let it escape. Some of it was already starting to condense into a thick, translucent fluid on the surface of his soul. It dripped down his brother's ribs, and made holding its quivering form both more difficult for the new slippery friction and infinitely more distracting as the ooze of liquid made his careful strokes less of a clinical necessity and more uncomfortably sensual. He grit his teeth, swallowing the whimper that tried to escape. 

But if he could feel Papyrus's soul...he reached out tentatively with his magic, but even in its weakened state he could feel it trying to politely repel the intrusion. Huffing in desperation he squeezed a little harder and felt Papyrus's soul turn blue. With a slight crook of his free hand he summoned it to the top of Papyrus's chest cavity, feeling its own distinct vibration beneath the layer of bone that held it apart from his own soul. 

He could try force the magic in, maybe, but his mind immediately baulked at the notion. He didn't want to hurt his brother, and he definitely didn't want to do something that sounded so _violating_ even to save his life. His thoughts scrabbled for options. The easiest way to make a soul more receptive was...well, to do exactly what he was doing to his own soul, but he wasn't going to touch Papyrus's soul if he could possibly avoid it. Not physically, at least, but...maybe just with magic?

The grip of his blue attack cradled his brother's soul carefully, the touch familiar and unthreatening. He focused on what he could feel where their magic collided, trying to make his hold feel as soothing as possible. Affectionate. Encouraging. Intention was everything.

_Just relax, Pap. I'll take care of you._

He could feel his brother's soul responding. It knew him, after all. It trusted him, and Sans could feel it gravitating towards him, seeking reassurance, because it was hurt and _scared and confused and **STOP WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS I DON'T WANT TO FIGHT YOU-**_

No, crap, Sans was too close, he wasn't supposed to be able to feel so much. He fumbled, hastily trying to untangle his magic from his brother's soul and--

A small twitch jolted through Papyrus's torso as he rose back to consciousness. 

“Papyrus?” Sans gasped, still reeling as he lurched forward, staring into his brother's eyesockets, begging for comprehension. 

It took Papyrus a moment to focus on him, his skull rolling hazily back and forth, a pitiful groan hissing between his teeth. “S-SANS...?”

“Yeah, bro,” he said, his relief so tangible it was almost painful. His fingers inadvertently tightened around his own soul and the emotion roared with intensity because--

_everything was going to be okay; his brother was awake._

_EVERYTHING WAS GOING TO BE OKAY; HIS BROTHER WAS HERE._

Sans's body shook, vision blurring as he finally lost control of his magic and everything went _senseless_ \--

\--and Papyrus's soul pulsed in synchronous with his, his own magic expanding to support and enfold and mingle and welcome that sudden surge of raw, reckless energy, soaking it in.

That actually worked, Sans thought deliriously, and in the next moment pitched sideways and collapsed into the snow next to his brother. 

“SANS!”

He felt blissfully dizzy. It was a titanic effort to crack his eye sockets back open at his brother's frantic call. Papyrus was flailing clumsily in the snow, trying to sit up but failing to succeed without the benefit of limbs to support himself. The realisation shook him from his daze, and Sans fumbled for the nearby bones of his brother's arm. “Here, bro.”

He awkwardly dragged the humerus up towards his brother's shoulder joint again, and this time the bones eagerly jumped back into place, threads of severed magic weaving back together. Papyrus winced in discomfort, and Sans hummed in sympathy before nudging the next bones into place at the elbow. Thankfully the lower pieces of Papyrus's right arm had stayed mostly intact, though they were cracked along the radius. This time Papyrus whimpered when it rejoined the rest of his body, but after a few deep breaths he slowly lifted and flexed the limb, testing the movement of his wrist and fingers.

Sans started to push himself up. “Hang on, I'll bring you the-hnnnnnnngh.”

He fell face first into the snow again as the world spun around him in a dizzying fashion, and sudden exhaustion leeching all strength from his limbs. He hadn't expected it to hit him quite so hard, and when he finally managed to clear his vision again he was looking up at Papyrus's worried expression. 

“BROTHER, ARE YOU OKAY?”

“Ugh,” replied Sans, because that very emphatically summed up how he felt, but Papyrus didn't seem to think it was a very comprehensive answer, so he added, “I just...need a minute.”

He blinked and saw his fingers were still curled protectively around his soul. No wonder every little thought and discomfort felt so acute. He needed to put it away but he couldn't seem to summon the effort to lift his arm.

Papyrus followed his gaze and visible startled at the sight of his brother's soul out in the open. “SANS! YOUR-”

“Heh,” Sans breathed tiredly, forcing a grin up at his brother. “It's okay.”

As long as Papyrus was okay, anything was fine. His soul was still twitching slightly, a fresh coat of liquid magic dripping between his fingers and he really needed to move before Papyrus started asking about it. He didn't think that was a conversation he was up to having right now. He needed to get the rest of Papyrus's bones back together get them both home and find enough material to splint his brother's breaks and heat up that spaghetti in the fridge so they could eat and--

He felt something loop roughly around his middle and suddenly found himself being yanked backwards, sliding gracelessly through the snow with an undignified yelp. He skidded to an equally bewildering stop, catching a glimpse of Papyrus's horrified expression from the corner of his eye before his gaze snapped towards the shadow now looming beside him. 

“Hey there, smiley trashbag!” A leering, terrifying face hovered over him, and it took Sans a moment to look past that awful smile to realise that the face was surrounded by a halo of golden petals and balanced on a long, leafy stalk. He'd never have thought a flower could look so intimidating. 

A thick vine had wrapped itself around his spine, just below the rib-cage, to drag him away from his brother, and the moment he was close enough a dozen more slithered out from under the snow, grasping for his shoulders, his throat, his arms--

\-- _his soul_.

He struggled immediately, bucking up against the hold of the vines, but even at the peak of health he doubted he could have competed with its strength. It fastened a vine tightly around his wrist and then deftly yanked his soul from the grip of his numb, clumsy fingers.

“Well now,” the Flower said, bringing the vulnerable core of his being up to its smirking face. “What do we have here?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely people who have left comments and kudos! Please, please check out the gorgeous fanart Likhain did for the first chapter of [Sans and his deliciously oozing soul](http://likhain.tumblr.com/post/143711464271/and-with-this-i-begin-my-existence-as-undertale#notes). Also, I have given in to temptation and set up a sin-centric tumblr for Undertale fics and art. Go check me out over [here!](http://askellie.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  **BIG TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER** : Flowey. Amoral, soulless flower doing awful things. Non-consensual soul touching and non-consensual incestuous activities. No ecto-parts, but definite goopy soul fluids and sensitive bones. Cinnamon roll Papyrus being blatantly manipulated. Sans having a very bad time. With that said, if these things are your jam, please enjoy. :D

There were two different kinds of panic. There was the kind Sans had felt when he first found his brother's bone sticking out of the snow – the kind that was accompanied by frantic energy that was almost too intense to contain, that urged him to run, fight, do something!

And then there was the kind that gripped him now, that was so powerfully paralysing he couldn't even think much less act. His soul was caught tightly in a stranger's grip – a menacing grip – and all he could do was stare in blank horror as his mind failed to process anything except the raw feeling of dread. 

He needed to... hell, he realised belatedly that this was probably the same creature that had torn his brother to pieces with the same vines that were now creeping over his body, coiling around his bones with a vile, tickling slither, but the physical threat was nearly inconsequential because there were so many worse things than pain that could be inflicted on a monster whose soul was out in the open. 

Not that anyone ever would. Those sorts of things were the most heinous of crimes; nothing more than horror stories left over from some of the darker chapters of the war or from the time before when monsters might still have made the mistake of trusting humans. They weren't the kind of thing one monster would do to another unless LOVE had warped them beyond all boundaries of sanity and reason. 

Yet somehow he had the feeling this awful creature was entirely capable of it, and that knowledge shook him to the core. 

“FLOWEY,” Papyrus said urgently, and even though there were only a dozen feet between them now, his voice sounded impossibly far away. “FLOWEY, LET GO OF MY BROTHER.”

The flower – Flowey? – leered, its face morphing into a horrible, jagged smirk. “Why should I?”

“I'LL--” Papyrus halted abruptly, unable to come up with a suitable threat or plea, and his painful faltering seemed to fill the flower with triumph. Its vines jostled Sans gleefully, the coil that had captured his soul tightening slightly, forcing a frantic yelp from Sans's throat. He didn't dare take his eyes off that dangerous grip on his soul, but he could feel the way Papyrus's gaze narrowed, resolved. “I WON'T LET YOU HURT HIM.”

“And how are you going to stop me?” Flowey taunted, teasingly lofting the soul back and forth. “You're all the way over there, and--ACK!”

Sans felt his soul turn blue and he was suddenly violently yanked back towards his brother, gasping as the short tether that anchored his soul to his physical body was stretched taut. His brother's hold on his soul wasn't quite as energised as it normally was, but it was filled with his steadfast urge to protect. 

(The part of him that wasn't incoherent with panic would later remember to be proud. Though Papyrus's blue attack was powerful, he was usually only able to reinforce the existing direction of gravity, weighing down an opponent to hold them in place. He couldn't usually manage the convoluted tricks needed to drag a soul against the natural pull of the earth, but in this instance he performed it flawlessly.)

But the flower didn't let go, its roots well and truly tangled around the soul, holding it in a net that brought his brother's desperate pull up short. Sans ended up sprawled on his side, able to see his soul stretching yearningly towards Papyrus's outstretched hand, but the vines held it and the rest of his body caught in an unyielding grip. 

Sans choked. He couldn't breathe. His soul was being pulled in two different directions and it felt like it was being crushed. His body spasmed, kicking out weakly, but the pressure wouldn't yield. In the corner of his dimming vision, he could see the flower still smirking.

“You're going to break him if you keep doing that,” it said in a sing-song jeer. “I didn't think when you said you wouldn't let ME hurt him, you were going to do it yourself.”

The constriction on his soul lessened immediately, and Sans coughed weakly into the snow, gasping for breath. Papyrus looked devastated, his had shaking visibly, and when Sans tried to force out a reassurance all that he could manage was an incoherent groan. 

“Hey there, trashbag!” An impudent vine pressed against Sans's temple, forcing his head to turn back in the direction of the flower. “Wasn't expecting to see you so soon. Last time you didn't turn up until your brother was a pile of dust.”

Sans wasn't sure if the hold on his soul had scrambled his thoughts enough that the flower's words didn't make any sense, or if it was just rambling incoherently. There was definitely something wrong with it. He should have been able to feel _something_ of its intentions resonating through his soul, the way it was gripping him so tightly, but...he couldn't feel anything. Just an odd sort of emptiness, like the way sound echoed eerily in a bare room. On one hand, he was infinitely _thankful_ for that – he definitely didn't want the ugly feel of this thing's thoughts leeching into his soul.

On the other hand, it was terrifying.

“Are you up to something again?” the flower asked, poking him with a bit more force, the jabbing vine coming uncomfortably close to Sans's eye-socket. “I know you're still keeping secrets I haven't figured out. Hmm, maybe now I can convince you to be a bit more talkative...”

The flower held up the soul again and, its beady eyes watching Sans carefully, gave it a calculated squeeze. Sans jerked, just barely managing to catch his voice in his throat before it escaped in a shriek, feeling that jolt as if it were a pinch on the nerves of his spinal column. Worst of all, his soul gave a wet squelch and more liquid seeped out, oozing over the vine.

“Disgusting,” Flowey said, but even though there was no denying the mockery in his tone, he also sounded horrifyingly fascinated. He let the viscous fluid coalesce into thick droplets that trickled down into the snow, and even in his panic Sans could feel the sharp burn of mortification because his brother could undoubtedly see that and, god, how disgusting was he that he couldn't help but feel the tremors of his earlier release still shuddering through him. Even if his intention hadn't been erotic, all the after-effects were still there. His bones felt clumsy and sensitive. His soul still throbbed with a tender heat, and when the vines squeezed again, a little more gently...

He shuddered, hating himself for it, but even with that emotion twisting into him like a knife he couldn't make it stop.

“P-pap,” he wheezed, squeezing his eyes shut, because he most definitely didn't want to know what expression his brother might be wearing at the moment. “Go...don't...”

_Don't watch, don't stay, leave, be safe!_

Each word was a struggle, but he didn't want his brother here, didn't want Papyrus to see this, to be near this creature and whatever it might decide to do next. He was wretchedly aware that his brother's legs were still in pieces and strewn through the nearby snowdrifts, and at most his brother would only be able to crawl away if the flower was too distracted to stop him...but Flowey obviously wanted something from Sans, and if he could keep it occupied with his struggles and his suffering then maybe Papyrus could-!

A cruel laugh interrupted his train of thought. “You idiot! Surely you know he wouldn't leave you here with me.” Another wide, warped smile graced the flower's face. “See, I know your brother pretty well. Probably even better than you do! And he never leaves you behind, even though you're such a useless bag of bones. Isn't that right, Papyrus?”

There was a small scrape of bone against bone, and Sans risked a glance in the hope that he'd see his brother scrambling away out of the reach of the vines. Instead Papyrus was grimacing stubbornly as he aligned a bone into his hip socket so the magic could take hold. It was the wrong bone. The tibia wasn't meant to connect directly to the pelvis, but he had only the small collection Sans picked up to choose from and it was the closest fit in shape and size to act as a counterbalance to his single arm. It would make him at least a little more manoeuvrable, even though Sans imagined it must be incredibly uncomfortable. 

His brother was preparing, but not to flee, if the determined look on his face was any indication. 

He let out a small growl, helpless and desperate, more afraid and angry for his brother than at him, but if a sharp tone could convince Papyrus to just listen to him... “Papyrus-!”

A vine immediately shoved its way through his teeth, making him choke in surprise. A second and then a third joined it, the tendrils coiling into a thick knot that wedged his jaw wider, smothering the startled protest that tried to escape.

“Now, now, it's rude to interrupt,” Flowey chided him sweetly, his vines curling tightly around the nape of Sans's neck to fasten the impromptu gag in place. “I was talking to Papyrus first.”

“W-WHAT DO YOU WANT?” Papyrus asked, and the quaver his voice set Sans struggling anew. “I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU ATTACKED ME LIKE THAT, BUT IF I DID SOMETHING WRONG...IT'S NOT MY BROTHER'S FAULT!”

Sans was willing to bet whatever had motivated the flower to lash out, it hadn't been Papyrus's fault either, but Flowey made an elaborate show of considering this statement. “Hmm, well. I guess you're right. I was kind of angry before...”

Papyrus fervently bent forward, prostrating himself in the snow. “I'M SO SORRY!! I'M REALLY SORRY, FLOWEY, I DON'T KNOW WHAT I DID OR SAID BUT PLEASE-!”

“You're just so _selfish_ , Papyrus,” Flowey interrupted, and Papyrus went achingly silent, hanging on every word. “I mean, all you ever do is think about yourself and talk about yourself...you never think about others.”

“I...” Papyrus faltered guiltily, his eye sockets blinking rapidly with telling traces of wetness at the corners as he took this criticism straight to heart, his familiar confidence crumbling so easily under a cruel word, and Sans just wanted to scream.

It wasn't true. If anything, Papyrus was painfully vulnerable to the opinions of others. He might not always be very adept at reading them, or acknowledging them, but Papyrus was earnest and sincere and helpful and kind and if being 'The Great Papyrus' gave him the strength to be all those things then Sans couldn't imagine anyone could do anything but admire him for it. He worked hard to keep his brother's spirits high, to encourage all Papyrus's ideals and enthusiasm and hope so he could share those wonderful traits with anyone who needed a little more light in their life, just as Sans often did. 

Because hope was integral to monsters, and yet so fragile, and so easily destroyed. He could see the sheer demonic glee on the flower's face as he watched Papyrus curl in on himself, and Sans's snarl was effortlessly silenced as the vines in his mouth pressed in and sank further towards the back of his throat, choking off the noise.

“I mean, just look at your brother here,” Flowey continued blithely, turning its attention back to Sans. “Look how far he was willing to go to save you! I've never seen someone pull out their soul like that before, but seems like he really put himself out for you.”

“YES,” Papyrus whimpered, casting a grateful look at Sans that was full of remorse. “HE IS A WONDERFUL BROTHER. FLOWEY, PLEASE DON'T-”

“Shush,” Flowey snapped, and Papyrus's jaw clicked shut. “I told you before. In this world, it's kill or be killed, and if he's stupid enough to put his soul out in the open for you he deserves whatever happens.”

There was a certain harsh truth to that statement, but it didn't offer any comfort when Flowey gave Sans's soul another calculated squeeze. Sans felt his vision stuttering as his eyelights flickered, a strangled sound making it past the gag and putting a stricken expression on his brother's face.

“STOP!”

“Don't worry. I'll be careful,” Flowey simpered insincerely, slowly releasing the pressure. “Actually, I feel really bad for your brother. It's not his fault, right, Papyrus? He wasn't the one who made me angry.”

“NO, IT WAS ME,” Papyrus agreed instantly, fervently. “I'M SORRY, I DIDN'T REALISE-!”

“No you didn't,” Flowey hissed, but Sans was pretty sure the anger was just an act. He certainly didn't feel anything like that through the hold on his soul. “But I'll let you make it up to me! And to your brother as well. See, I think about other people's feelings, unlike you!”

Sans was pretty sure consideration for others was the last thing on this creature's mind, but Papyrus looked so desperately relieved at the offer. Even after the flower had literally torn him to pieces, he was willing to listen to it, to try and resolve the situation without violence. As much as he hated it, Flowey wasn't lying about knowing his brother well. He knew exactly how to exploit him in all the ways Papyrus was most vulnerable to.

Sans was going to blast the stupid creature into dust if it was the very last thing he did.

“Well, see, I know a bit about souls,” Flowey said conspiratorially, holding Sans's up in demonstration and eliciting another flush of shame from its owner. “They're very delicate things, you know. When a monster's soul is out in the open like this, it's easy to make them feel very, very good or very, very bad. Which do you want your brother to be feeling, huh?”

“G-GOOD?” Papyrus hazarded, sounding bewildered as to how this could possibly be the right answer. 

Flowey beamed. “That's right! Because your brother has done so much for you, yeah? So you should return the favour.”

“ALL RIGHT,” Papyrus said, sounding no less confused but slightly more assured because it didn't sound so terrible when Flowey used that saccharine tone of voice. Sans doubted Papyrus had any idea what he was agreeing to. He wanted to shake his head vehemently, to try and warn this brother that this was just a trick, that the flower was blatantly manipulating him, but vines had wedged themselves in and around the vertebrae below his skull, holding him still. He couldn't even gesture his refusal.

“Come here then,” Flowey coaxed, and this command Papyrus was all too willing to obey. He could only drag himself along with his intact arm, the one bone at his hip flailing awkwardly to help push him through the snow. He moved slowly, his movements stiff and pained, and Flowey seemed equal parts amused and pleased by this. 

Papyrus only hesitated on the edge of the circle of Flowey's vines, looking at the flower with sickening earnestness for further instruction. A vine coiled like a crooking finger. “Closer. You can't help your brother from over there.”

Papyrus scooted forward the last short distance, now balancing precariously on his tail bone at Sans's side, their positions almost ironically reversed from earlier when Sans had crouched over his brother's inert body. They exchanged a look, silent, desperate and unsure, but even though Sans did his best to convey how much he wanted Papyrus to leave instead, his brother either couldn't interpret it or simply ignored it.

“Good, good,” Flowey approved, bringing up a vine to drape with deceitful friendliness over Papyrus's shoulder. It wasn't tight or restricting, but the warning was clear. Sans watched a tremor of fear run up his brother's spine. The flower noticed it too, and smirked. “Here, have a look. Trashbag's soul is still in one piece, see?”

He practically shoved Sans's soul into Papyrus's face. Papyrus's expression twisted with conflicted uncertainty, because on one hand he no doubt wanted to check and make sure their earlier struggle hadn't put any cracks of stress in its pale form, but on the other there was something unspeakably obscene about the way Sans's soul was still dripping.

“T-THANK YOU,” Papyrus stammered ludicrously, as if keeping the soul intact were some sort of favour Flowey had granted him.

“Now you're going to help him feel better!” Flowey enthused. “I mean, looks like he had a bit of fun already before you woke up, but I bet it wasn't very satisfying since you weren't helping all that much.”

Papyrus blinked, looking flustered, but there was a slow-dawning realisation breaking into his expression that Sans was devastated to see. 

“Go on,” Flowey urged, offering the pulsing surface of the soul towards Papyrus. “Touch it.”

“FLOWEY, I DON'T...” Papyrus couldn't help but stare at it now, and even Sans's keen of distress didn't seem to reach him. “I DON'T THINK MY BROTHER WOULD WANT-”

The creeping vine on Papyrus's shoulder had started to curl its way down his arm, looping between the radius and ulna and seizing hold of his wrist and twining between the metacarpals. The vine flexed, and like a marionette on a string, Papyrus's arm jerked and twisted, pulled in the direction Flowey demanded of it. 

“Touch it,” Flowey said again, and this time there was no pretence of suggestion. It was a demand, and the strength of the vine was more than enough to overcome what Papyrus could manage given that the magic holding his arm together was still new and weak.

And Sans couldn't do anything. His own arms had been tightly bound up behind him, his coat and shirt having been hiked up to allow his forearms to be lashed to the convenient lattice of his ribs. Vines had crawled up his femurs and down the length of his spine and he was trying very hard not to think about the way they'd made themselves at home under his clothes, just teasing over the ridges of his pelvis.

Papyrus shot him a miserable, remorseful look, carefully unfolding his phalanges. Flowey might have forced his hand into position, but he seemed intent on making Papyrus equally culpable, forcing him to close the last fractions of distance himself. 

Papyrus's hand was shaking.

Sans was too.

With utmost care and gentleness, Papyrus let the tip of one finger press against the smooth surface of Sans's soul.

Sans could have told his brother that it wouldn't have mattered how softly he'd touched it. The effect was immediate. His vision blanched a numbing, blinding white.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of non-consensual soul-touching in this chapter, guys. Make sure you've read the tags before you continue. ;) Of course, that might just encourage some of you dirty sinners more so.

He'd never explained to Papyrus the nuances of soul-touching.

It was a conversation he should have had with his brother by now. Despite Sans's occasional reservation regarding his brother's innocence, Papyrus was probably ready for it. Sans was the one who wasn't – not when it meant opening up a new world through which his brother might seek the approval he so desperately wanted from others and, in turn, be hurt by them.

That wasn't the intention, of course. Soul-touching was supposed to be an intimate expression of trust and devotion - the most empathic connection monsters could have with one another. The problem was that, on such a deep level, there were no secrets and no filters. Every thought and feeling could be felt just as it was made, raw and undisguised, and so if there were any doubts or reservations, they tended to manifest unbidden and ugly as an open wound. 

Maybe it was different for other monsters, but Sans was intimately acquainted with his own cynical subconscious, and it was the last sort of cruelty he would ever want to inflict on anyone, least of all someone he cared about. 

The only twisted consolation in this whole horrible situation was that since it was his soul in the open, he was the receptive party. Papyrus would be able to feel some of the feedback – his strongest emotions and most powerful thoughts – but thankfully he wouldn't be subjected to the dark whirlpools of thought that made up the essence of Sans's being since most of those were being overridden by the much more visceral feelings of fear and horror.

But...

Sans could feel Papyrus. All of him. In fact it was nearly the only thing he could still feel. The choking restrictions of the vines and the cold of the snow under his body seemed muted beside the vibrant touch of his brother's presence.

Papyrus was scared.

It was a fear made of pain and helplessness and guilt and confusion, almost a mirror of Sans's own emotions but in different quantities. Sans could feel the echo of dull, throbbing agony through the joints where his limbs had been torn off, and the twinging sensation of wrongness where his leg bone was connected incorrectly. Every time Flowey moved, Sans could feel Papyrus inwardly flinching at the expectation of further hurt – his own or Sans's – and while that made Sans burn with impotent fury, Papyrus simply felt bewildered and remorseful. He was still convinced this was his own fault, somehow, and none of Sans's silent pleading could reach him to convince him otherwise.

But at the same time, Papyrus's thoughts resonated with a tireless optimism. He wasn't going to let his injuries hold him back. He still thought Flowey might calm down and leave peacefully, but above all, he was determined to keep his brother safe.

His love and concern for Sans were so prominent in his touch it was honestly a little overwhelming. Sans felt his eyesockets prick with the intensity of that emotion, and valiantly blinked it back. That sort of reaction could be easily misinterpreted, and in this already awful situation the best outcome would be for Papyrus to remained focused on the positives. He could end up doing a lot of unintended damage to Sans's soul if he started doubting himself. 

That first touch on his soul was breathtaking, but completely overwhelming because much like his outward persona, Papyrus's inner self was LOUD and definitely didn't make any attempt to inhibit itself. Sans bore through the initial clamour as each of Papyrus's emotions projected themselves onto him. Apprehension was the loudest. He knew Flowey was asking him to do something his brother didn't want, even if he wasn't entirely sure what that was. He knew souls were fragile, and Sans's especially since his physical frailty and low HP were a reflection of his core. He knew he had to be extraordinary careful, and so his finger only barely brushed the surface of Sans's soul, tracing a line down its sloping surface, focused only on watching Sans's reactions, desperately hoping not to see pain and-

-Sans quivered weakly in a manner that Papyrus couldn't wholly identify, but the resulting surge of warmth through Sans's soul flickered with a tentative yearning.

Oh, Papyrus thought, and Sans could practically put the acute curiosity into words as the tip of his finger lingered at the nadir of its caress before experimentally stroking back up. 

“Hnnngh,” Sans wheezed vocally around the vine, making Flowey snicker in amusement. It was disgraceful how quickly Sans's faculties were falling to pieces. He couldn't hold back the way his soul was reacting to his brother's touch. He couldn't even silence himself from making weak, humiliating mewls of pleading sound as his awareness dimmed to everything except Papyrus's feather-soft contact. 

“That's right,” Flowey said, his voice sounding distant, hypnotic. “I bet you're making him feel _real_ good.”

There was a conflicted sense of wonder from Papyrus, because he could feel all too truthfully that the flower was right. He thumbed the surface of Sans's soul with slow, attentive care and a ripple of pleasure thrummed through Sans's body. His eyes rolled, and he faintly heard Papyrus gasp, feeling an echo of his brother's uncertainty because for him the sensation was completely new and unfamiliar, but...

Good. He was making Sans feel good. That was what he needed to be doing, right? And when Sans shuddered like that, his fear and hurt receded, becoming inconsequential, and Papyrus could feel that answering tingle in his own bones, and that also felt nice, so...

_No no no_ , Sans thought weakly. This was spiralling completely out control. He needed Papyrus to slow down, he needed to think, he needed-!

Papyrus did it again, and the frantic thoughts were swallowed up in a wave of euphoric relief. Papyrus was desperately trying to soothe him, not realising that with Sans's soul in his hand, Sans basically had no choice about it. He was entirely vulnerable, susceptible to every thought and feeling that crossed his brother's mind, because his brother didn't know how to guard those inner thoughts to keep them from overwhelming Sans and, worse, he didn't even know that he needed to. He didn't know the consequences of what he was doing, because Sans had been too reluctant to tell him. All he knew was that he could feel how pleasant it was when he caressed Sans's soul and so he continued to do it.

“Huh,” Flowey said, his tone resounding oddly. “I...I can feel something.”

Papyrus paused, giving Sans a moment to catch his breath, wheezing frantically around the vines gagging him. Having his jaw wedged open had made his mouth salivate on reflex, and he'd been so unaware of it that thick rivers of drool had pooled behind his teeth and spilled down his chin.

“W-what do you feel?” Papyrus asked, his earnest hope poorly hidden, and Sans could hear the desperate undertone of his brother's thoughts; _maybe he feels sorry, maybe he wants to stop, maybe he'll let us go._

“I don't...” Flowey tilted on his stalk as though viewing the world through a more sideways perspective would help. “Do that again. Do it harder.”

Sans could feel Papyrus weighing up his concerns versus the possibility that doing so might convince Flowey that this was wrong, but a moment later he realised he didn't really have a choice either way. He cupped Sans's soul in his palm, letting the vines cushion it as he adjusted his grip and pressed in more firmly with his thumb. 

The skeletons both shuddered, and this time Flowey did too. 

“Oh!” Flowey said, sounding almost surprised, and then delighted. “Oh. It's you!”

His shadow loomed over Sans. He tried to convince his eyes to focus on the threat, but his eye-lights kept blurring, glazed with the aftershocks of that firm, gratifying stroke. 

Flowey laughed viciously. “That's disgusting! Wow, Trashbag, you're really enjoying that, huh? You really like having your brother feel up this sick little soul of yours.”

The vines around his soul squeezed, and Sans jolted from the constriction, but the more overpowering rush of pleasure was absent this time. The flower's body still felt like an empty vessel. There was nothing in its touch for Sans's soul to respond to aside from the sheer physical pressure which, after Papyrus's ministrations, felt almost dull by comparison.

Flowey apparently thought so too, because his face twisted with disappointment and hunger. He snapped at Papyrus, “Hey, I didn't tell you to stop!”

Papyrus made a reluctant sound, but obligingly pressed his fingers in again. Sans was unbearably aware of the way his soul was starting to roil with excitement. It squirmed and pulsed, its surface straining in the hold of the vines and pressing eagerly back into Papyrus's touch, mindlessly chasing the comfort he offered. Each beat of its soft form seemed to extrude a new coat of condensed magic, and it was starting to make quite a mess, splattering wetly across Papyrus's hands and dripping down into his lap. Papyrus grimaced, and Sans could feel acutely that he was both repelled by the slimy texture and yet strangely fascinated. He'd never seen a soul do that, and there was something inherently gratifying about feeling liquid well up under his phalanges.

It didn't help Sans feel any less ashamed or disgusted with himself. 

“Ohhhhh yeah,” Flowey breathed with an awful satisfaction Sans was trying hard not to think about. “Papyrus, I would never have guessed you'd be such a natural at this! I guess that innocence of yours is really just an act, huh?”

“Flowey,” Papyrus whimpered plaintively. “C-can we stop? I don't...this doesn't feel right.”

“It feels GREAT!” Flowey objected, slinging his main stem across Papyrus's shoulders companionably. “I mean, you can feel that too, right? You're making your brother feel so good. If he could talk, I'm sure he'd be begging for more.”

Papyrus looked down at Sans, trying to discern if Flowey was right, but Sans couldn't think straight enough to try and argue with only his eyes. Whatever his expression showed must have been pretty mortifying, because Papyrus's cheekbones were hazed with an embarrassed orange glow. 

Though the flower couldn't contribute to the soul-touch, his vines hadn't been idle. The ones that weren't holding his arms and legs still had spread out to explore with an idle sort of fascination, trying to see what sort of reactions they could provoke. One had been prodding at the discs in his spine, initially prompting uncomfortable twitches, but now it had changed its motions to a curling squeeze along the vertebrae and Sans couldn't help the small guttural sounds clawing their way from his throat. Papyrus couldn't hear them as well behind the gag, but Flowey could feel every clench of Sans's teeth and the way his conjured tongue flexed helplessly against the intrusion. 

More vines had crawled into his shorts and were now mercilessly winding their way through his pelvis. Sans was trying desperately to convince himself that it was just another bone on his body like all the others, that it wasn't any more profane or violating to be touched there as opposed to anywhere else, but the sheltered, inner crevices tended to be more sensitive to touch, and in conjunction with what was happening to his soul he couldn't help but arch into the disturbingly sensual caresses that danced across his sacrum and tail-bone. He nearly choked when another vine brushed against his pubic symphysis and began sliding its length back and forth along the groove in an enticing rhythm that eventually coaxed his hips to rock back and forth in an answering grind.

Sans had never felt so good, nor so completely lost. Desperate sounds were gurgling incoherently out of his mouth, along with a near flood of saliva as he writhed in Flowey's hold. 

“Flowey,” Papyrus said unevenly, his breath coming out in shallow pants. “T-there's something...happening. I think we should stop.”

Papyrus didn't understand the slow, inexorable build towards climax. At first, his fingers had chased the little bursts of good feeling, his overwhelming thoughts focused on making Sans feel good, but now each pulse came with an answering hitch of tightness winding up in Sans's soul. It still felt pleasurable, but it was also beginning to grow in intensity in a way that was both exquisite and uncomfortable. Papyrus projected uncertainty in his next touch, and Sans felt his sudden clammy apprehension that he was doing the wrong thing, that he was hurting Sans somehow. 

_Don't stop? Please stop?_ He didn't know which he wanted, because stopping was agony and continuing was nearly worse. Spittle was starting to froth around his mouth as he tried to articulate his urgency.

Flowey was displeased, and Sans felt his frustration in the way the vines on his bones began rutting more roughly against him. “Don't you dare-hnnngh. Can't you feel it, we're so close!”

He sounded almost drunk, despite his fury. His words were slurring and his grip on Sans seemed more uncoordinated than before. Papyrus yelped as the vines on his arm pulled demandingly, and the pain jolted through Sans's soul and back through their linked bodies, making all three of them wince. 

“Ugh,” Flowey grunted, changing tactics since hurting Papyrus was going to be counter-productive to getting what he wanted. “How stupid can you get? Look! Can't you see how much your trashbag brother wants this?”

With an unceremonious yank he tore Sans's shorts down around his knees so Papyrus could see the way Sans's hips were hitching senselessly in the grip of the vines. Papyrus made a sound that could charitably be called a squeak, flushing brightly on his brother's behalf at the sudden display of naked bone. Sans was nearly too far gone for his own embarrassment to register, but he could feel Papyrus's just fine, and felt his cheekbones burning with equal intensity. 

With a cruel smirk, Flowey gradually slowed his movements until they were stalled entirely, leaving Sans to arch desperately at the sudden lack of friction. He whined in distress, his pelvis unbearably sensitive and aching cruelly at the absence of touch.

“It'll be painful if you stop before he's done,” Flowey taunted, and sure enough all three of them could feel it. Not just the lack of physical stimulation, but the build up of magic in Sans's soul was a fierce knot of tension desperate for release, and just the threat of being denied was enough to make it clench even more painfully in a vain attempt to either repress the engorgement entirely or surprise it into a violent finish. A fresh splatter of silvery residue gushed out, dripping down over Papyrus's wrists and the vines in a lewd display that had Flowey sniggering crudely. 

“You know, _you're_ meant to be the one making him feel good,” Flowey mused, tapping a leaf-like appendage thoughtfully against his chin. “You're not being selfish again, are you Papyrus? Making me do all the work?”

“No, no!” Papyrus objected frantically, his fear spiking through Sans's soul at the undertone of warning in Flowey's voice. “I just...I can't...”

He made a helpless sort of gesture with the empty space beneath his scapula, and Flowey seemed to consider this. A high-pitched giggle burst out of him. 

“Fine, fine. I guess this is probably a little awkward for you. Just this once I can do you a favour.” 

There was a heavy slither of something moving in the snow. On the edge of his vision, Sans could barely make out the sight of a vine being reeled in towards them, and on the end of it was Papyrus's lost arm. 

“Look what I found,” Flowey gloated, dangling it just out of Papyrus's reach. “I bet it would feel good to put this back where it belongs, right?”

“Y-yes,” Papyrus quavered, staring at it longingly, but not willing to reach out and risk his careful hold on his brother's soul. “Flowey, please. Can I have my arm back?”

“Only if you promise to finish what you started,” Flowey told him sweetly, but his face was still twisted into a sadistically toothy leer. “And no laziness this time!”

Papyrus gave a jerky nod, and without ceremony Flowey jammed the humeral head into the socket of his shoulder. The bones ground together unpleasantly since the flower had gotten the angle wrong, but after a bit of twisting and fiddling Papyrus's magic finally took hold and reluctantly pulled his humerus back into place. The slow reawakening of feeling down his arm was a aching sort of relief that projected through Sans's soul, like stretching out a bad cramp. 

“There,” Flowey huffed, straightening his stem. “Now you've got nothing to complain about.”

Papyrus nodded again, almost puppet like. It would have concerned Sans a great deal if not for the renewed thrum of concentration he could feel through Papyrus's hold. Both hands were cupped around Sans's soul, and though he could have sworn Papyrus wouldn't have any magic to spare, Sans could feel small threads of orange coaxing their way through the natural blue of his own aura.

Papyrus was sharing his courage. He was proving to be brave enough for the both of them. Incrementally Sans felt his awful tension loosening, and nearly went limp from relief. 

“Better,” Flowey grunted in satisfaction. He was pressing up against the side of Papyrus's cheek now, his main stem still over the taller skeleton's shoulders and his leaf-like arms stroking together in consideration. “But do you know what I bet would feel amazing?”

The vine still wrapped around Papyrus's arm slowly contracted, forcing his cupped hands to lift towards his face. Sans couldn't see his brother's expression, only feel his faint uncertainty as soul fluid dripped down over his forearms. Papyrus didn't dare resist, however, and Flowey didn't stop until his palms were practically pressed against his jaw. 

“Lick it,” Flowey ordered, and Sans felt a horrible ripple of want shudder through him because, god, he could barely even imagine what that might feel like but the promise of heat and pressure and more was unforgivably arousing. 

Worst of all, he knew Papyrus could feel that from him. There was no hiding exactly how badly Sans wanted it – how he _needed_ Papyrus to touch him. He was so disgusting, but the guilt wasn't enough to overcome the awful urgency, and Sans closed his eyes again so he wouldn't have to see his brother's face contort between confusion and hesitance and reluctance before he slowly parted his teeth. 

Sans didn't watch the slender, flexible protrusion emerging from his brother's mouth, but he sure as hell felt it when it tentatively lapped against the surface of his soul. 

The reaction was instantaneous. Sans shook so hard he thought his body might come to pieces like his brother's had, but the vines cruelly held him together as he wailed through the gag. Being touched by a construct of magic rather than physical matter was so much more intense. The contact was electrifying, and he could feel the inside of his soul bursting with excitement and fireworks. 

Papyrus was shaking too, but he didn't dare stop with the way Flowey was hissing dire encouragements into the space where his ear would be. He opened his mouth wider and let his tongue flick questing against Sans's soul, softly and carefully at first before gaining the confidence to lap wholeheartedly from the lower curves to the pointed tip of Sans's being. The fizzling, metallic smell of magic was overwhelming. The seeping fluid bubbled and roiled, not with heat but with emotion and sensation. Sans could feel the way slick stands clung to his brother's tongue, eager to mesh with the source of all that beautiful pleasure. 

_Too much!_ It was too much. He could feel himself seeping into his brother, filling his mouth, sliding down his throat, and it was awful, it was amazing, it was so damn good but also depraved and he absolutely forbade himself to let go, to let himself be pushed over that last, unconscionable line-

A thicker vine forced its way through his pelvis, fast enough to chafe against the bone, and at his arch of pain he felt a rush of answering, soothing emotion from Papyrus. An enveloping blanket of reassurance and encouragement and love. 

_It's all right, brother._

Sans might have pleasured himself in the past, but he'd never come with the assistance of someone else. He'd never come so hard before, that his magic sparked in an exhilarating rush and poured out of him, uncontrolled but rapturous, mindless but full of bliss. Gravity pulled at their surroundings, and for a moment everything threatened to float away with the same joyous energy, but Sans didn't have the reserves to sustain frantically recall that he should have done something more with that enormous outpouring of magic. His last, desperate thought was to try and direct some of it towards Papyrus, trying to re-create that link that had let him pull his brother back from the edge of dusting. He felt a shifting lurch and knew at least some of it had connected, but even more just dispersed uselessly because his brother was...

_Oh Papyrus_. Sans could still feel him, could feel the way his brother was reeling from that climax, bewildered but also awed and...something else, that was narrowing his focus somehow more than the feedback through Sans's soul. Something victorious? What?

He had only a moment to contemplate it, barely able to force his eyes back open to see the way Papyrus was swaying in place, Sans's soul still cupped protectively at his chest, but if he looked dazed then Flowey looked positively disoriented. His stem had flung sideways, drooping down almost into Papyrus's lap, petals hiding his face as he shook with the same aftershocks Sans was feeling--

\--and how mortifying was it that the horrible creature was getting off on Sans's pleasure, ugh, no don't think about it, don't think--

\--but more importantly, Flowey was distracted. His vines had gone slack, and though Sans was still reeling too hard to do anything about it, Papyrus had obviously been waiting for an opportunity. He swiftly threaded Sans's soul out from the cage of vines that had kept it entangled and, with a desperate lunge, slammed the small quivering shape against its owner's sternum. The collision was rough in Papyrus's haste, and Sans convulsed from the impact, but his soul just dissolved on contact, eagerly slipping back into the safety of its host. Sans felt an immense, almost painful wave of relief.

His soul was back.

His soul was safe.

He was so, so very tired. 

The overwhelming constriction of horror and fear suddenly loosened its hold, and with it, Sans could feel consciousness slipping. He tried to lock eyes with Papyrus, tried to find his brother's face out of the hazy, blurring mess his sight had become, but the pale shape that he thought might be his brother's skull was very suddenly pulled out of the scope of his vision. He heard a crash, the impact of bone painfully meeting the ground.

He heard a voice. 

“That...was very stupid of you, Papyrus.”

And then he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to read more of my works? Come visit me at [askellie.tumblr.com](askellie.tumblr.com). I have a lot of juicy drabbles and unfinished ficlets that haven't yet made it to AO3. Also, I love comments and feedback, so if you feel so inclined, let me know what you think?


	4. Chapter 4

Papyrus breathed hard, trying to keep his body loose instead of stiff and bracing for the pain. One of Undyne's most important lessons when they sparred; he'd learned how to let the magic in his joints absorb the impact from a hit instead of trying to block it directly with his bones. The latter was more likely to end up with something severely broken, whilst the former might occasionally knock a limb off if the hit was hard enough, but the bones would remain whole. 

“I'm very, very disappointed in you,” Flowey said, and Papyrus couldn't help shivering, whimpering into the snow. Vines were working their way through his bones, pulling roughly to turn him over so he was forced to stare up into Flowey's small but surprisingly fearsome face. The small button eyes which usually looked so friendly had turned into dark, demonic pits of rage. His smiling mouth had sprouted fangs. “All you had to do was _listen_. You never _LISTEN_ , Papyrus.”

Papyrus was jerked off the ground and just as quickly slammed back into it. He yelped, feeling his HP ticking down a few more points until it was resting on a precarious twelve. He grappled valiantly with the largest vine which had wrapped itself around his middle, along the spine between his rib-cage and pelvis, but Flowey's tendrils were unexpectedly strong. 

“F-FLOWEY,” he gasped unsteadily, trying not to let panic overtake his voice. “I HAD TO! YOU CAN'T...CAN'T TOUCH SOULS LIKE THAT, AND MY BROTHER IS VERY FRAGILE!”

“YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!” Flowey roared, his vines squeezing Papyrus, threatening to crush him in fury. “I COULD FEEL. THAT WAS THE FIRST TIME I COULD FEEL IN SO LONG AND YOU _RUINED IT_.”

He shook Papyrus's body as if it were a toy and he was merely a child venting a tantrum. Even now, despite the occasional hints Flowey had dropped to suggest he was much older than his innocent appearance implied, Papyrus had always felt that Flowey should have still been in striped shirts. The way he acted seemed strangely immature at times, with a childlike curiosity that could easily be sweet or cruel. Papyrus didn't know what had suddenly caused his friend to deteriorate towards the latter, but just like a child, surely he could be corrected and set back on the right path.

Papyrus wanted to believe that. He needed to.

Flowey sneered at him before turning aside, dragging more of his main stem up from the ground so he could loom over Sans's inert body. “Hey! Smiley trashbag! Wake up!!!”

He wrapped a vine around Sans's sternum despite Papyrus's frantic struggles to prevent it, and gave him a vigorous but thankfully less violent rattling. Sans was limp in his hold, eyes closed and his expression faintly contorted in distress, but he didn't react to either the snarl or the jolting. 

“WAKE UP OR I'LL TURN YOUR BROTHER TO DUST.”

There was a pregnant pause during which Sans failed to rouse. Flowey scowled darkly. “Huh. That usually works. Guess he's really out.”

Most of the vines were withdrawing from Sans now that they no longer needed to hold him in place, which would have been a relief for Papyrus except that his brother was so unnaturally still. His eyesockets were still open a crack, but their dark depths were devoid of the lights of his pupils. Papyrus strained to check his brother, but he only saw strange static around Sans's chest instead of the usual reassurance that told him, _Sans, your brother. He loves you more than anything._

“Looks like I'll just have to play with you instead,” Flowey growled, turning back to the younger skeleton. The newly freed vines began winding their way around Papyrus instead, forcing their way in between his bones in a way that was now horribly familiar. He let out a whine as they started to pull, feeling the burn as the magic in his joints fought against separation, as well as a new kind of ache that made him break out in a frantic sweat.

“AHH-! FLOWEY, PLEASE, DON'T! P-PLEASE-!”

His voice warbled, the vowels strained and pitched with that strange something that burned alongside the pain. Flowey paused, and for a moment Papyrus felt a surge of hope until he saw the way the flower was looking at him. His expression was that same wicked, calculating interest he'd had when constricting Sans's soul in his tendrils. Papyrus flushed, feeling too aware of the way the vines clung to his body, pressed tight into the joints, squeezing, moulding, enveloping with a strange pressure that was poised to cause pain but was also having a very different effect on his still-sensitive bones. The foreign heat he'd gained from touching Sans's soul hadn't faded, and it was trying to insist that there was something even more pertinent that might happen from Flowey touching him than the possibility of being torn apart again. 

He shook in the flower's grasp, bones rattling audibly, and Flowey's face broke into a leer.

“Ohhh,” he said, with a smug, knowing purr that made Papyrus shudder harder. “So you're still...and here I thought your trashbag brother's little explosion would have finished you off.”

It had felt an awful lot like an explosion. A good explosion; hot and overwhelming and pleasurable, but also terrifying and intense. Papyrus had held himself back at the last moment, his body wracked by the aftershocks that promised it could have been much better, much more enjoyable, if he'd just released himself over to it, but he couldn't. He'd needed to stay strong for his brother, and doing so had allowed him to find that moment of Flowey's inattention that had allowed him to return Sans's soul to his body.

But resisting had left him feeling...uncomfortable. Like his magic was coiled and irate, like there was something tight inside him that begged to be loosened. It might have been something he could have tried to ignore, but the way Flowey's vines constricted around him seemed to be making it worse.

Flowey seemed to be delighted by this, however. “Well, then. I guess this means you have a chance to make it up to me, Papyrus. Since you took his soul away from me, you can give me yours instead.”

Papyrus stared, agape. How could Flowey even ask for such a thing so casually? It was...indecent! Souls were private and personal and to ask to see another monster's was either the highest expression of trust and love between individuals, or else...well, Papyrus didn't completely understand the particulars, but to suggest it outside of that sacred bond just seemed incredibly crass and disturbingly obscene.

Though now he had a little more context for why that was the case. He remembered his brother's flushed face, contorted with unwilling ecstasy and exhausted, glassy-eyed need and felt a horrible twist of both guilt and completely inappropriate excitement as his own body thrummed at the memory. 

“F-FLOWEY!” he spluttered, hoping his indignation would compel Flowey to withdraw the vulgar suggestion, but the flower just stared at him with predatory expectancy. “I...THAT'S NOT...WE CAN'T...IT WOULDN'T BE...”

Flowey's expression went darker with each halting attempt at a protest. “So your brother would do it for you, but you won't do it for him?”

“I...” Papyrus cast another glance at Sans's slumped form, his soul twisting immediately in guilty shame.

“He's probably better off being dead than knowing what a terrible brother you are,” Flowey offered nonchalantly. A few vines peeled off Papyrus's body and began slowly crawling back towards Sans.

“NO!” Papyrus wailed, because even though he wanted to believe Flowey wouldn't, a horrible, heavy feeling of dread told him the flower would. 

Even before today, Flowey had shown that his casual gestures of affection could be inadvertently rough. Papyrus had lost the occasional point of HP from a too-hard pat on the back, from a vine accidentally tangling around his knees, from a hug that felt like the deadly squeeze of an anaconda. He'd avoided introducing Sans to Flowey for that reason, hoping to teach his small friend to have greater care for others before risking his brother's fragile life. Even if he didn't really mean to, even if he was just trying to scare Papyrus, Flowey could shatter Sans easily.

“WAIT, WAIT, I-!” he gasped, feeling the prickle of tears welling up, because he must be an awful brother and an even worse friend for things to have turned out so poorly. If this was the only way he could make amends...

The vines withdrew, and Flowey turned back to him with a harsh, impatient expression. “Well?”

Papyrus took a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to focus. It was incredibly difficult. Flowey's vines weren't stationary, absently curling through his ribs, the leaves tickling against the sensitive underside of his sternum. He made a soft hiccup of sound, trying to curl in on himself as he reached for the beating centre of his being. He could feel it trembling violently in panic and pain and the fearful discomfort of the knot of pressure that threatened to tear his magic from his control. Perhaps that was the part that scared him the most.

He tried to call it forth. Light sparked in his chest cavity, warm and reassuring and familiar, and then-

_NO NO NO IT WILL HURT HE WILL HURT YOU WHAT IF YOUR MAGIC LASHES OUT WHAT ABOUT SANS NO YOU CAN'T_

The light was snuffed out with a painful clench of screaming emotions, and Papyrus jerked from the backlash, feeling almost ill at the rush of refusal from his soul.

“What are you doing?” Flowey asked, a grim edge of warning to his tone. The vines tightened dangerously. “Bring it out.”

“I'M TRYING,” Papyrus whimpered, his tears finally falling. He'd never felt so weak or pathetic. His soul had never rejected him like that before. 

He tried again, but he'd barely grazed his connection to his soul before he was sent reeling again by the roiling deluge of his unstable emotions. It wouldn't work. He was too distressed, and above all the soul wanted to protect itself. It wasn't going to let itself be brought out, terrified of what Flowey might do to it. It fought Papyrus with a powerful self-preservation instinct that for once he couldn't overcome.

“F-FLOWEY, I CAN'T,” he panted miserably, feeling dizzy from the effort. “IT DOESN'T WANT TO COME OUT. I CAN'T MAKE IT.”

“Maybe it just needs a little more incentive?” Flowey asked darkly, turning towards Sans again.

“NO!” Papyrus shrieked, wrenching violently in Flowey's grip. “NO, PLEASE, I'M SORRY, I'M TRYING BUT I JUST CAN'T! PLEASE DON'T HURT HIM, FLOWEY, PLEASE-!”

“Oh shut up,” Flowey grumbled. A vine unexpectedly shoved its way through Papyrus's teeth, choking off his protests. “I've heard you beg before. It's gotten boring.”

The vines had stopped moving though, except where they were straining to hold Papyrus's still-thrashing body in place. The flower seemed to be considering its options, glaring in disappointment towards Sans before turning dark, beady eyes back to Papyrus. He seemed to come to some sort of conclusion because he wound his sinuous stalk back over to Papyrus again, looming over his skull.

“Fine. I can still work with this. If your soul doesn't want to come out, we just have to change its mind. That's better than dusting your brother, right?”

Papyrus nodded frantically, letting the frenetic energy drain from his limbs. His chest heaved weakly as Flowey readjusted his grip, but this time instead of taut restraints, the vines moved to cradle him. His wrists were coaxed over his head and lashed together, but the binding wasn't as tight as before, as if Flowey were suddenly more invested in his comfort.

“That's right,” Flowey encouraged, a stray vine petting the length of Papyrus's sternum. “Just relax.”

That wasn't an order he could completely obey, but fatigue made it difficult to remain tense and so his body had gone limp aside from the occasional shudder. He looked up at Flowey earnestly, trying to read his intention, a garbled question trying to make its way past the vine between his teeth before it tightened warningly to silence him.

“Don't talk,” Flowey ordered. “Just feel.”

Papyrus didn't understand until the largest stem still coiled around his spine begain moving, winding sinuously around his vertebral column in a smooth stroke that felt unexpectedly good. It slithered down from the base of his throat, tucked behind the clavicles, and with unprecedented gentleness it softly cupped each disc, an intimate massage that made its way slowly down the length of his body. 

His first reaction was a squeak of discomfort, but as Flowy kept up his ministrations that heated feeling started to make itself known again, burning first in his cheekbones and then making its way through the rest of his body. Everything was still achingly sensitive, especially in his joints where Flowy had forcibly separated them the first time, but now as he squirmed the vines gave him just enough slack that their pull was a pleasing friction instead of a chafing bind. By the time the main stem had worked its way down the thoracic vertebrae and was starting to wind into the lumbar region, Papyrus was unable to hold back the soft groans rumbling in his throat.

It felt good, the way holding Sans's soul had felt good, with those tantalising peaks of gratification that only made him want more. There was no place Flowey couldn't reach. Most of his clothing had already been torn off save for a few clinging scraps on his arms and his battle briefs, but they offered no protection from the agile creeping of vines which had started inching their way up his femur and the tibia he'd desperately sewn into place where his other leg should have been. That bone was particularly sensitive, since the sensations it was trying to feed him were incredibly confused by its unnatural placement. Flowey seemed to have noticed, because another vine was tickling along its length very attentively, seeming to enjoy the way it quivered and tried to lurch away from the touch.

After all the pain and stress, his body welcomed the change, but even so Papyrus couldn't quite accept that what Flowey was doing was something he really wanted. Even though each experimental caress made him gasp with an unseemly yearning, it also felt wrong, so very wrong, the way touching Sans's soul had been wrong when Flowey was forcing him to do it, the way Sans's expression had been wrong even when he'd convulsed with the climax of his soul's pleasure.

He...didn't want this.

He tried to voice his feelings, but Flowey wasn't interested. An attempt to bite down on the vine and gnaw through it just earned him a second one threading through his jaw, their combined, sinewy tissue resisting his blunt teeth. He tried to twist his hands free, but Flowey had wound through both radii and ulnae, binding them thoroughly. Trying to arch his spine away from further touching just seemed to be misconstrued as enjoyment because Flowey just laughed. 

“Oh, you like that, huh?” Flowey asked, a vine curling over the crest of Papyrus's pubic mound, separated from the bone by only a thin layer of cloth. Papyrus yelped in protest. “You're just as much of a pervert as your trashbag brother.”

A breathless sob of humiliation squeezed out past the gag, fresh tears welling up in Papyrus's eyesockets. Thoughtlessly, he craned his neck to try and look towards Sans, hoping for at least a glimpse of his brother for reassurance and strength.

Shockingly, Sans's eye was lit up, flickering wildly between cyan and yellow.

It was only his left eye. The other was still dark, and disturbingly his brother still wasn't moving at all. Sans's eye sparked, but it was the same flickering, impotent light that had flared and died in Papyrus's chest. His own soul was trying to ignite again, drawn out by Flowey's stimulation. Very rarely, his soul had manifested on its own, usually brought about by great joy or satisfaction, and Papyrus realised that must be what Flowey was trying to provoke now with a very differently pleasurable feeling. 

He was going to force Papyrus's soul out.

He was going to touch it.

Sans stared at his brother, his body still paralysed except for his face which was twisted in the most awful expression of despair and hatred and anguish. His eye flashed helplessly. Yellow. Cyan. Justice. Patience.

Justice and patience. Those weren't Papyrus's colours, but he could feel them now, still swirling in his soul. He had tried to resist the pull of Sans's magical overload, but his brother had still tried to thrust that magic at him, and inadvertently a little of it had penetrated, nestling inside him, giving him back some of the strength his one-sided fight with Flowey had stolen from him. It swirled around his soul, unfamiliar and awkward, but he could feel it wanting to take a very particular shape, needing only his permission to set it free.

Something yanked hard at his pelvis, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of cloth tearing. Papyrus cried out, feeling the last protective layer of his clothing stripped away, leaving him bare to the invasion of vines. He felt them wind their way over the ischium, delving into the holes and experimentally pulling at them to test the flexibility of the bones. It bordered on painful, but also sent waves of excruciating bliss up his spine. He helplessly rocked against the pressure, trying to ease his own torment and hating himself for it even as he held his brother's gaze.

Sans's expression begged him. Yellow. Cyan. Yellowcyanyellowcyanyellowcyan--

_Make him pay._

Papyrus's soul was starting to manifest, but so was something else. It formed overhead, casting a dark shadow that blocked out the light, making it difficult to discern. Papyrus had stopped fighting, all his attention turned inward, trying frantically to grasp at the strange shape of Sans's magic. He thought he'd known his brother and all their shared attacks, but the thing coalescing into being above him was something he'd never seen before.

Flowey was so absorbed in his exploration that he didn't even notice at first. Not until the high whine of magic charging filled the air did he look up, only to find himself staring right into the bi-furcated jaw of the monstrosity Papyrus had summoned.

“What the-”

It fired, the beam of pure magic burning through the flower's stalk with white-hot, blinding fury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come check out my tumblr, [askellie.tumblr.com](http://askellie.tumblr.com) for quicker updates and extra headcanons and insights!


	5. Chapter 5

A strange vacuum of sound followed in the roaring wake of the blast, filled only by Papyrus's own ragged breath. He shakily pushed up onto an elbow, the vines still draping heavily over him, but they no longer clung with magical sentience. They were still and inert.

_Dead?_ he wondered numbly, but a soft hiss of pain promptly corrected that thought.

“ _What...how..._ ” a misshapen, charred stalk emerged from the wide swath of ground burned clear of snow by the destructive laser. It jerked upright, one leaf disintegrating to ash as Papyrus watched. Flowey turned to stare at him, his face now seared and positively horrific in its fury as he glared at Papyrus. “ _ **You**_!”

Papyrus squeaked, terrified of the hate coiled in that small, mutilated body. Without any concious intention the construct above him whined in tandem and fired again, channelling his fear and horror into an expulsion of pure, righteous heat. Papyrus had to shield his eyes as the world burned white, and when he dared to look again, the ground was scorched, and Flowey was gone.

Was he really, though? Papyrus stared, his body locked with tension, expecting Flowey to lunge back up at any moment with a cruel cackle of laughter, the way he had during their earlier battle when Papyrus had only been valiantly trying to scare him off. He even thought he could see a small furrow in the dirt that might have been the lip of one of the tunnels Flowey used to move around. He watched it closely, hardly daring to breathe, barely aware of anything else until a weak call finally penetrated his intense focus.

“...Pap...Papyrus!”

Papyrus jerked, turning fast enough to make his spine crack in protest. Sans was staring at him with eyesockets so wide his single pupil was almost lost in darkness. Only the left was still lit, but now it was back to its usual shape of a small, pale flare in the depths of his skull. Sans managed a pained rictus when he saw he finally had his brother's attention.

“Hey,” Sans breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. It was hardly surprising Papyrus hadn't heard him before. “Pap...can you come here?”

Papyrus glanced down, feeling slow and oddly detached. Could he do that? Tentatively he began to pull at the vines threaded through his bones. Every time they moved, he shuddered, expecting them to suddenly pulse back to life and pin him down again, but slowly and carefully he managed to wind them free. His chest heaved anxiously as he dug them out from the inside of his ribcage. Sans made soft, reassuring noises that might possibly have been actual words, but Papyrus couldn't decipher them over the sound of his own panic. The worst were definitely the ones still hooked through his pelvis, though, now sagging lifelessly against his sacrum and illium, moving limply as he struggled to pull them out, and--

\--without warning or fanfare, he was suddenly overcome with revulsion. Whimpering pitifully he scrambled out of the nest of vines, wincing as the last few scraped roughly and snapped as they came free. He lunged towards Sans, practically crawling through the snow, desperation giving him strength.

“Great, Paps. You're doing great,” Sans murmured when his brother finally reached him. One hand had fallen against the ground in a pose almost outstretched in Papyrus's direction, and Papyrus grasped it fiercely. Sans's phalanges twitched weakly against his.

“Sa...Saaaaaaans,” Papyrus sniffed miserably, feeling his numbness starting to shift, giving way to a pitiful weakness and deep-seated guilt as he huddled over his brother's prone form. Sans was familiar. Sans was safe. Were they safe? Probably not, but for the first time in hours he felt something almost like relief; like they'd _survived_.

“Hey, hey, it's okay,” Sans whispered. He couldn't seem to lift his arms to hug Papyrus but it was clear from every line in his body that he wanted to, so Papyrus obligingly leaned over him and clung the way he once had when they were younger and smaller; like they still did from time to time when Sans had a nightmare or Papyrus couldn't sleep. “I think you got him. He's gone. You really...really saved our skins there, bro.”

Papyrus went rigid.

“SKELETONS DON'T HAVE SKIN,” he wailed, and then promptly burst into tears.

It hurt, but it also felt good. Like something had unknotted from inside of him. Like he could finally take a breath only to release it in loud, explosive sobs all over Sans's chest.

“Yeah, I know,” Sans sighed, sounding extremely relieved himself, somehow managing to project calm despite everything. “Doesn't matter. You were great. So proud of you, Pap.”

His quiet, effusive reassurances helped abate some of the horror out of the situation – making Papyrus feel less like a useless, awful failure at everything even though he knew whatever he had done had hurt Sans and no matter what he'd tried he hadn't been able to talk Flowey down from any of his despicable acts. Later, he'd have to sort through all that, and the complicated feelings that came with it. For now, he just cried and let Sans sooth him.

Sans obviously tried to give him time – Papyrus lost track of it completely during his wrenching break-down – but it still felt far too soon when the tone of his voice shifted, trying to catch Papyrus's attention again. “Pap, hey...I need you to do something for me. Just one more thing, okay?”

Reluctantly, Papyrus sat up, clumsily wiping at his face. It was much less effective trying to sop up tears with bare phalanges than it was when he was wearing his gloves. “Y-YES, BROTHER?”

Sans took a few steadying breaths. His voice sounded even softer than before, like was having trouble projecting it. “Do you think you can move? I need you to go back to town. Get help.”

Papyrus looked down at his...well, absence of legs, really, save for the one that was attached incorrectly. “WHAT ABOUT YOU?”

Sans looked pained. “I, uh. Can't move, bro. Used too much magic...earlier.”

Papyrus hunched worriedly over his brother. Skeletons were a lot more dependent on their magic than other monsters, relying on it to talk, to see, to hold their bodies together. If Sans had so little he wasn't even able to move...it was a bad sign. Normally only intense starvation could push a skeleton so far, though that clearly wasn't the case here.

It was because Sans had given all his magic to his brother. He'd barely realised it, caught up as he was in that last exchange where Sans's soul had been discharging wildly in his grip, but Sans had still pushed everything he had left towards Papyrus, holding nothing back, and now he was paralysed and losing strength and--

“Pap, don't...don't cry, c'mon. I need you to keep being my super cool bro just a bit longer. I'll be fine. That's why I'm sending you for help, yeah?”

“BUT,” Papyrus burbled, unable to keep his voice steady. “WHAT IF SOMETHING HAPPENS? WHAT IF WE CAN'T FIND YOU? OR--” An even worse thought occurred, “--WHAT IF FLOWEY COMES BACK?”

“I don't think he will,” Sans said with a slight edge of satisfaction to his voice. “Pretty sure you got him good.”

That didn't make Papyrus feel much better. He'd never really hurt anyone before. Not like that, not truly meaning to do harm. The thought of it made him feel a little sick inside, which Sans seemed to notice immediately.

“Look, bro, it's fine. I...I'd hate to think that thing might still be on the loose. It could hurt someone else. At the very least, it'll probably be taking a while to lick its wounds before it does anything else.”

“Okay,” Papyrus agreed quietly, not certain if he found that reassuring or not. He was too tired and upset to interrogate his feelings on the subject very deeply.

“Hey, uh...speaking of...” Sans's expression shifted strangely, looking oddly conflicted as he cast a glance over Papyrus's shoulder. “You haven't, um...dispelled your attack yet.”

Papyrus glanced up, and sure enough, the large construct was still floating overhead, casting a protective shadow over the two skeletons. “O-OH.”

He hadn't really looked at it before, but the magic had taken the shape of an enormous, misshapen skull - not a skeleton skull, either, but that of some other long-snouted creature whose gaping maw reminded him a little of the Canine Squad. It was covered in bony spines that crested along its brow. The wide mouth was filled with jagged teeth, but despite the intimidating appearance it only regarding him steadily with large, white-pupiled eyesockets that reminded him a little of his brother's.

It made him feel strangely safe.

He focused inward for a moment, testing his connection to the strange thing, but found that just holding it in place wasn't much of a strain on his magical reserves compared to the forceful drain of firing it. In fact, for a construct he wasn't familiar with, he felt strangely comfortable with it.

“I...DON'T WANT TO?” he said, wrapping an arm tightly around his ribcage where he could feel his soul pounding. “J-JUST IN CASE?”

Sans looked like he wanted to object until he caught sight of the hollow look in his brother's eyes. “'Kay, Pap, just...don't wear yourself out, yeah?”

Papyrus nodded jerkily. He just felt better, having the thing nearby, in case he needed it again, and also having something to focus on made him feel more stable.

Sans's brow furrowed, considering. “Since it's there, maybe we can use it to track down the rest of your bones. Can you control it? You should be able to feel it through the tether.”

“I FEEL IT,” Papyrus said, closing his sockets, singling out that internal link. He could grasp it readily enough, just like he could with his usual bone constructs, but unlike his attacks this one had some sort of strange feedback to it. “IT'S...DIFFERENT.”

“Y-yeah, this one's uh...a little smarter than your average bonehead,” Sans said with a forced looking grin. Papyrus didn't have the energy to scold him. “It's an autonomous, pre-fabricated magical symbiont-” Sans paused, noting the blank look Papyrus was giving him. “-I mean. It can think for itself, kinda, so don't try to control it like you do with your other attacks. Just imagine what you want it to do and try and...share the idea? It should figure it out.”

The instruction seemed incredibly unintuitive, because magic was meant to be an extension of its user. It didn't think for itself, although sometimes it could react unexpectedly, albeit only when the subconscious urges of a monster overpowered the conscious choices. Emotional state and intention usually played a large role in the expression of magic. The reason Papyrus excelled in his craft was because he had learned not to let those things interfere with his will, which was not at all an easy skill to master.

So now, trying to just imagine the construct doing what he wanted without actively asserting his control on it? Was unfathomably difficult. He tried, but he couldn't seem to figure out how to get the idea from his own skull into the one looming above him. He imagined yanking at the tether like one would the leash of a stubborn pet. He tried mentally 'yelling' at it. The only response was for it to shudder in place, twitching in confusion, like it knew he wanted something from it but couldn't figure it out.

Well...not that it could 'know' anything. It was just magic, and magic didn't think for itself, despite what Sans said.

“IT'S NOT WORKING,” he complained, feeling slightly petulant. Sans's instructions must have been wrong, because Papyrus never had difficulty forming his magic and getting it to do what he wanted, whereas Sans himself often struggled to focus for long periods and often gave up due to laziness.

“Yeah. Huh.” Sans looked like he was thinking hard, and like the effort was almost painful. Papyrus felt a rush of concern, and wanted to assure Sans he would figure it out alone, but Sans spoke first. “Maybe try thinking about how much you want your legs back?”

That wasn't a difficult request. Papyrus glanced down at his pelvis, feeling the rawness of the sockets where his femurs had been torn free. Flowey had taken his time, once he'd been sure Papyrus was too entangled to escape, taunting the skeleton cruelly for daring to hope the battle had only been a game, that he would stop once Papyrus had been clearly defeated.

(And perhaps Papyrus could have fought harder, but he didn't want to win, didn't want to hurt Flowey, and maybe once Flowey was victorious he would feel better and apologise and everything would go back to normal.)

He breath hitched painfully, another agonised sob threatening to make its way out into the open. Sans stared, aghast, his fingers twitching against his brothers. “Pap...”

A high pitched wail interrupted him. Both brothers glanced up at the skull which unleashed another tense, mournful sound before promptly bounding away with a strange jerky, hovering gait. It moved clumsily through the air, wobbling back and forth like a drunken blimp, but it did seem to have some destination in mind. At least Papyrus hoped so.

Sans seemed to agree, his eyes hooded and his smile slightly more sincere. “Good job, bro.”

Papyrus could feel something pulling at his soul the further the skull moves from him. He puts a hand over his chest, trying to identify the feeling.

“Sorry,” Sans murmurs, blinking slowly, like he's struggling to focus. “Should have warned you...it takes more energy, the further it moves away from you. Distance puts a strain on the tether.”

Papyrus nodded, reluctantly discarding the idea that he might be able to send the skull back to town in his stead, even if he could figure out how to make it carry a message.

“Are you tired?” Sans asked, misreading his discouraged expression.

“NO,” Papyrus said instantly, then realised that wasn't quite the truth. “I MEAN, YES, BUT...I HAVE ENOUGH MAGIC TO SUSTAIN IT.”

He was just exhausted. And upset. And sore. And in some sort of pain that he didn't think had anything to do with his actual injuries but he wasn't really eager to interrogate that feeling too hard because the physical hurt was bad enough. His arms and spine felt chafed and his joints were tender and the rough skin of the vines had left scrapes on the insides of bones that were rarely touched to begin with except by himself.

He risked a glance at Sans, and for a moment he could see that deep, unsettled misery reflected back at him before Sans swiftly obscured it behind another reassuring, exhausted smile. “You're too amazing, bro. When it gets back you should go. It's getting late...”

Each syllable he uttered became progressively slower and more slurred, and Papyrus was starting to realise how much it was costing his brother just to stay conscious and speak to him. Every effort was using up yet more magic he didn't have to spare.

“BROTHER YOU SHOULDN'T FALL ASLEEP,” he hedged, leaning over his brother so that the light flakes of snowfall that had started to drift down through the branches wouldn't land on Sans's still body. Papyrus glanced up anxiously, trying to ascertain the state of the weather. It felt like it was getting colder, and though they were partly shielded at the moment by the trees, a new layer of snow was already starting to fill in the burned ground left by the laser.

“Not sure I have much of a choice about that, Bro,” Sans said slowly, his eyesockets narrowing heavily, dragged down by their own weight. “Sorry. Might just...sleep until you get back.”

He said that so simply and trustingly, like he had no doubt that Papyrus wouldn't; like he couldn't fathom anything going wrong in the difficult journey Papyrus would have to make back to town, in rousing the guard, in finding his way back to this isolated patch of forest when the light of the cavern began to dim with the onset of night time, with snow falling to cover up his tracks and his scent and bury Sans's unconscious, fading body...

“SANS,” he begged, trying to rouse his brother, but Sans's eyesockets had already emptied of light, his face going slack, and there was no response no matter how firmly he shook his brother's shoulders or how loudly he called his name.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW, I cannot believe that it's been exactly a year since I last updated this. @_@; I am so sorry, guys. This is what happens when you take on way too many projects, but I just want to assure you that none of my fics have been abandoned or discontinued. Even if it takes me a while to get around to them, I am gonna finish everything eventually!

A sharp, eerie howl echoed through the trees, startling Papyrus from his attempt to rouse his brother. He hunched protectively over Sans’s smaller body, instinctively bracing for something dangerous to emerge alongside the harrowing sound, but after a tense moment he recognised the bulbous shape of the large skull making its way back towards him. It crashed carelessly through a veil of low hanging branches, desperate haste in its lumbering flight as it screeched with senseless distress.

Papyrus clutched his brother in alarm, completely unsettled by the skull’s bizarre behavior. It careened gracelessly back into the clearing and began circling in a rapid, dizzying orbit.

“W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” he asked it, realising the absurdity only a moment later. It was a magical construct; it couldn’t answer him, but it also shouldn’t have been reacting in such an unnaturally emotive way, as if something had upset it. What had his brother called it...? An autonomous, pre-fabricated magical symbiont? Clearly it was something very different from the other magical attacks in his repertoire.

The amount of noise the skull was making was distressing in its own right. Papyrus was almost tempted to dispel it, but he couldn’t discount the possibility that it was reacting to some threat he couldn’t perceive. Papyrus glanced around fearfully, eyes falling on the scorched earth where Flowey had disappeared.

“WHAT’S WRONG?” he tried asking the skull, but it only keened at him urgently. He reached inward, trying to find the magical link that bound it to him -- the tether, Sans had called it. He could feel the connection anchored in his soul, inexplicable but strangely comforting, but the only thing he could perceive was his own jumbled, anxious thoughts. The skull rolled awkwardly in the air, turning to stare at him with large, mournful eye-sockets. Papyrus startled at the sight of new bones protruding from its mouth like it had grown a new set of long, fearsome teeth, but after a moment he recognised them as his own missing pieces being held with surprising care by its bifurcated jawbones.

“OH! YOU FOUND THEM. THANK YOU, STRANGE SKULL-FRIEND!”

The siren-like noise was starting to peter out to a guttural whine of unease. The skull drifted closer, carefully parting its teeth and letting the bones drop into the snow where Papyrus could easily reach. Gratefully, he reached for the dissembled pieces, quickly arranging the bones of his right leg in their proper order. He held the round joint of the femur against the socket of his hip, eyes watering with pricking discomfort as his magic began stitching itself back together, connecting his limb once again. Aggravatingly, the skull started keening again, its perturbing voice piercing distractingly through Papyrus’s skull like the unholy screech of nails on chalkboard. 

Despite his discomfort, Papyrus tried to be patient with it. The skull seemed to be trying its best, after all. “SKULL-FRIEND, PLEASE CALM DOWN. THE AMOUNT OF NOISE YOU ARE MAKING SEEMS QUITE UNNECESSARY.”

Miraculously, his request seemed to work. It quietened down again, although it continued to hover close, casting an ominous shadow over Papyrus’s body as he worked. When he reached his left side, he hesitated over the improperly placed tibia he’d forcibly joined in place of his missing femur. What he needed to do was re-sever the magical bonds and tear away the bone. It didn’t belong there, and he couldn’t reassemble himself properly with his pieces out of order...but given the amount of pain he was already in, and the weakness of his magical reserves, he wasn’t certain he could manage the whole procedure by himself. 

The alternative was that he could leave the bone in place for now. Experimentally, he lined up the patella and fibula, trying to find a workable configuration. The whole leg would be weaker without the strong founding bone of the femur in its rightful home, but he could use a little extra magic to reinforce it. As long as he could still walk, it was easier than committing to pulling off another piece of himself. For a brief moment, he shuddered senselessly, remembering the terrifying sensation of vines tightening around his leg, tugging almost playfully to test the natural stretch in the limb before slowly twisting, tearing, gleefully dismembering-

The skull wailed again, breaking Papyrus from his dark, spiraling thoughts. He glanced over at it, suspicions quietly forming. He was starting to notice that every time his own thoughts became tangled with stress, the skull’s behavior seemed to deteriorate. Likewise, when he forced himself to focus on reassuring it, and by extension himself, it began to subside again. 

It made a bizarre sort of sense, he supposed. The skull wasn’t controlled directly by his will, but was influenced by his thoughts...or rather, by his emotions and intent. It had obligingly fetched his legs in response to his desire to reclaim them, and now it was mirroring his distress and uncertainty every time he faltered.

“YOU ARE A VERY STRANGE SKULL,” he told it. The sound of his voice seemed to bolster both of them, and Papyrus much preferred it over the quiet. “BUT YOU ARE ALSO PART OF MY BROTHER SO I WILL DO MY BEST TO TAKE CARE OF YOU.”

It felt better to focus on what he could do, what he  _ needed  _ to do, rather than the catastrophic mess of everything that had already happened. Bracing himself against the discomfort, he forcefully joined the mis-matched bones of his tibia, patella and fibula together, creating an awkward but functional leg. The entire length of it was much thinner than it should have been, particularly where the fibula had to support everything below the knee on its own, but a mesh of orange magic helped to cushion the joints and hold everything together.

The skull had managed to recover both his boots, but as he pulled them back on, Papyrus became uncomfortably aware of how little of the rest of his attire had survived the assault. The dark, bone-tight bodysuit he wore beneath his armor had been torn apart with the rest of his body. A few scraps clung along his spine, but Flowey’s vines had peeled away the rest during their invasive explorations. He could see the chestplate of his battle-body lying split open several feet away, unable to provide a modicum of decency let alone any protection. His shorts had been viciously ripped off. Thinking about them prompted the skull to lurch over and bury its snout in a snowdrift, returning victoriously with the skimpy garment between its teeth, but Papyrus could tell immediately that there was no salvaging them. Both side seams had been sheared apart. There was nothing left to hold them on his hips.

He hadn’t taken much notice of the cold since skeletons were relatively insensitive to all but the most extreme temperatures, but the realisation of his near-nakedness was suddenly almost unbearable. Sans hadn’t made any acknowledgement of it when he’d been awake, his attention wholly focused on calming Papyrus down, but even without any witnesses save the oblivious floating skull, Papyrus felt an unnatural crawling sensation over his bones, like Flowey had managed to leave pieces of himself behind. A frantic check proved this not to be the case, but Papyrus felt unnerved regardless.

His own clothing was ruined, and as much as he hated the idea of taking from his brother, he couldn’t stand to stay so vulnerable and exposed. With hitching breath and shaking hands, he gently pulled Sans close and silently pleading for forgiveness, carefully unwrapped his brother from his jacket. The blue garment was almost comically oversized on Sans, giving him a misleading guise of breadth and bulk. On Papyrus, it reached just past his pelvis, nearly enough to preserve his modestly but not enough for comfort. After a moment of thought he also took his scarf back from Sans’s neck, glad to see his favourite accessory was still in one piece. Instead of throwing it around his neckbones, he wrapped it around his waist, letting it drape like a skirt. It only reached mid-way down his femur, but it made him feel slightly less indecent. He tied it off and zipped up the coat, now covered from thigh to clavicle. It was the best he could do without taking more from Sans than he felt comfortable with. 

“ALL RIGHT, SKULL-FRIEND,” he said, valiantly steeling himself for the next unpleasant task. “WE CAN’T STAY HERE. WE NEED TO GET HELP.”

Moving slowly and cautiously, Papyrus began the arduous task of dragging himself up on his feet. It was especially difficult with his misshapen left leg. The unbalanced bones made it slightly shorter than his right leg, and his calf felt delicate; easily breakable. His movements were stiff and pained, made only slightly easier by using his still detached left femur as a support pole to lever himself upward. The skull shuffled over, drawn by either his whimpering efforts or sheer curiosity, and Papyrus tentatively used the bones of its angular, draconic features as supportive handholds to aid in his climb. Thankfully it didn’t seem to mind, holding relatively steady until he was upright and leaning against it, panting from the effort. 

“THIS IS...NOT GOING TO BE AN EASY JOURNEY,” he noted, tentatively placing weight on his bad leg. It shook madly, barely able to hold, but the pain was mild; endurable. He patted the skull, more for his own assurance than its. “BUT WE WILL MAKE IT. TOGETHER.”

There was no possible way he could bring himself to leave Sans behind. Even if he’d been certain that Flowey was no longer a threat, there were far too many risks for a monster of Sans’s fragile constitution. A tree could fall on him. An avalanche could crush him. The cold could freeze his bones until they became brittle and shattered. So many things could go wrong if Papyrus left to get help alone.

But bringing Sans along was not going to be a simple feat. Normally Papyrus could carry his brother easily. Sans was small and light and usually quite comfortable resting lazily in Papyrus’s hold. It might even have been comforting, but right now Papyrus wasn’t certain he could trust the ligaments in his arms to carry even Sans’s slight weight. Too much stress on his joints would just break the still-healing connections, and even if Papyrus could have managed that much, his lame leg would make their progress incredibly slow going. 

He eyed the skull with intense, thorough scrutiny. It stared back, placid and thankfully silent for the moment, the split halves of its jaw gently flexing back and forth. Papyrus could remember the immense, furious beam of energy it released from its gaping maw, but he could also remember how gently it had cradled his dismembered bones between tis teeth. It could be careful -- delicate -- if it needed to be. He just had to convince it.

“I NEED YOU TO CARRY SANS FOR ME,” he told it, trying to put conviction into his voice as if that would help communicate the idea. “YOU CAN DO IT. I BELIEVE IN YOU!”

It continued to stare at him unresponsively, and Papyrus made a disgruntled, impatient sound. He gestured towards Sans. “HE’S RIGHT THERE, JUST...PICK HIM UP. YOU CAN CARRY HIM IN YOUR MOUTH. JUST BE CAREFUL!”

It angled at a slight, almost imperceptible tilt, quivering in place. It seemed to understand that he wanted something, but once again, trying to compel the right action seemed absurdly unintuitive compared to the usual method of controlling his magic. 

How had it done it the first time? By thinking of what he wanted, focusing on his need. Ignoring the frustrated urge to push futilely at the tether again, he tried to think of what he needed to happen.

_ Sans _ . He needed Sans to be okay. He needed Sans to be awake and talking and cajoling him with teasing promises and pestering him with awful puns. The yearning was so overwhelmingly intense, for a moment he threatened to break down into tears again, collapsing uselessly over his brother and begging for him to wake up and take care of things.

He was almost unbalanced when the skull suddenly bobbed downward, its sizable body thumping against the ground as it pushed forcefully into Sans’s unresponsive body.

“C-CAREFUL!” Papyrus scolded it, slightly alarmed by its suddenly forceful movements. At least the painful urgency of his thoughts seem to have given it the right idea, though now he had to lean his weight on it to try and restrain its aggressive shoving. “GENTLY, STRANGE SKULL FRIEND! YOU HAVE TO BE GENTLE WITH SANS!”

His verbal orders didn’t appear to have much of an effect, so instead he tried to tamper down on his emotions, calming the frantic worry that threatened to consume him. The skull stilled, and then with much greater care and delicacy it opened its mouth and slid the split halves of its jaw under Sans’s body beneath his shoulders and his knees.

“THAT’S RIGHT!” Papyrus cheered it. “NOW LIFT!

It rose slowly, jawbones quivering uncertainly as it worked to keep Sans balanced. Thankfully the grooves of its teeth interlocked with the bones of Sans’s ribs and knees well enough to keep him from rolling out of its mouth without having to bite down. Papyrus didn’t like how precarious its hold was, but even worse was how Sans didn’t so much as twitch despite how uncomfortable it must have been, lying on a bed of fangs. Even though Sans was something of a champion at finding bizarre places to sleep, Papyrus would have much rather have seen a frown of discomfort than the awful blankness of Sans’s expression. 

“GOOD JOB,” he told the skull,carefully patting the side of it’s snout. “NOW WE CAN...GO...UM…”

For the first time, Papyrus looked around at the clearing and realised he had absolutely no idea where he was. Flowey had stopped him near the bridge outside of Snowdin, playfully cajoling Papyrus into following him into the forest for a special surprise. Papyrus hadn’t thought to doubt his former friend’s motives, but now he realised Flowey had deliberately led him away from the usual trails and the patrol routes the Guards used. Their resulting fight had driven them even further into the woods as Papyrus had desperately tried to reason with Flowey, trying to retreat when granting mercy had failed. Nothing around him looked even remotely familiar, and he forcefully repressed another quiver of despair.

It took a vigorous shake to banish his hopeless thoughts and remember that, even as lost as he was, Sans had managed to find him somehow. Sockets widening in realisation, he hastily spun around, looking for the tracks in the snow that his brother had made upon arrival.

“AHA!” He pointed out the clear, rounded tracks of his brother’s slippers. “THIS WAY, STRANGE SKULL FRIEND. WE WILL BE HOME IN NO TIME.”

The skull gave a low rumble that Papyrus chose to interpret as a congratulatory affirmation. It followed companionably behind as Papyrus limped ahead, eyes fixed on the tracks that would lead them back to safety.

Walking was difficult. Every movement made his scraped, sore bones ache with aggravated complaint. It was worst around his pelvis where a strange, hot tightness seemed to linger, throbbing with each step. He tried not to think about it, focusing hard on putting one foot in front of the other.

The start of Sans’s trail was easy to follow. The prints in the snow were unusually distinct and widely spaced, not at all like the dragging furrows of Sans’s normally lazy gait. Sans must have been running; panicked. Papyrus felt a rush of mixed gratitude and remorse, almost flinching from the memory of Sans’s wide, terrified sockets staring at him, Flowey’s vines wrapped tightly around his soul.

The skull whined at him, its yawning jaw threatening to drop Sans. Papyrus hastily pet it again, trying to be soothing. “SORRY, SKULL-FRIEND. I DIDN’T MEAN TO UPSET YOU.”

Instead he tried to stay focused on following Sans’s tracks, which quickly became a much more difficult endeavor. Rather than following a straight line, Sans’s footprints zig-zagged back and forth between the torn up snowdrifts left behind by Papyrus and Flowey’s battle. Sometimes the chaos of the churned up snow made it impossible to find his brother’s trail, and it would take several minutes of painstaking search to find it again. 

Snowfall was starting to filter down through the trees, lightly at first, feather-light flakes drifting softly onto his shoulders and creeping down the back of his neck, but with the wind picking up and the temperature chilling further, all of Papyrus’s instincts were telling him that a storm was coming. It was getting darker too, the simulated light inside the cavern going dim in what was supposed to be a simulation of the surface’s day cycle. It was nearly impossible to tell without a close inspection what was a print in the snow, and what was merely a shadow cast by one of the trees or a stone lodged just beneath the surface. Even then, sometimes he couldn’t be entirely sure, and more than once he chose a direction more on hope and instinct than his admittedly mediocre tracking skills. He’d tried to learn the basics from the Dogs in the Guard, but most of them followed their noses rather than their sight, and try as he might Papyrus didn’t think his nose was strong enough to pick up the faint residue of bones and ketchup over the smell of snow and pine.

Although he tried his hardest, Papyrus couldn’t outrace the weather. New snow fell over the forest floor, obscuring his brother’s footprints until Papyrus couldn’t pick up the trail again. Desperately, he struck out in a different direction, trying to follow the destructive path left by the battle instead, but even that was being buried, the snow masking the former destruction, healing the ugly scars that had been carved into the landscape. 

Eventually he found himself looking down at smooth, unbroken snow, the trees around him still menacingly unfamiliar and too dense for him to see anything resembling a recognisable landmark. He stared down, hoping some obvious clue would leap out at him, but the long pause only gave time for exhaustion to creep over him, making his knees shake and his spine slump. 

“HELLO?!” he called out, hoping desperately that maybe there was someone nearby who might hear him. A Gyftrot, a guard, one of the unruly teens from town, anyone would do...but most knew better than to wander into the forest at night. “IS THERE ANYONE WHO CAN HEAR ME? I NEED SOME ASSISTANCE!”

Normally Papyrus had no problem with volume. He’d learned to project his voice with great vigor and energy, a trait which Undyne enthusiastically approved of, but to his own ears his voice sounded feeble and strained. He tried again, but doing so only made the back of his jaw prickle warningly, his magic choking up, trying to conserve itself. His next words were nearly swallowed by the wind. 

“PLEASE!” he gasped, knowing it was pointless. If no one had responded to his first call, they definitely wouldn’t hear him now. 

His body gave a tight shiver that nearly left him breathless. Normally he wouldn’t feel the cold, his magic generating enough to keep his bones warm, but with his reserves running so low he was keenly feeling the lack of covering on his legs and chill that Sans’s jacket couldn’t completely keep out. His joints were starting to feel stiff and slow, and the magic holding together his misshapen leg had weakened, allowing the bones to grind together unpleasantly. 

A part of him madly wanted to keep moving forward, even if he didn’t know which direction would take them back to town, but a more sensible, Sans-like voice in his head reminded him that it would be dangerous to keep going without being able to spot any potential hazards. It was too easy to walk into a crevice or off a cliff, and if he fell, he might lose his hold on the skull’s magic and then Sans would fall too. He couldn’t risk it, but the only alternative was trying to find some shelter and remain in the forest until morning.

The Skull nudged against his scapulae, giving another unhappy groan. Papyrus automatically reached out to mollify it, but this time he couldn’t find any surge of reassurance to offer it. 

“IT’S OKAY,” he rasped, feeling along its jaw until he found the rounded curve of Sans’s skull. Sans might not be conscious, but the touch was more for Papyrus’s sake than his brother’s. “WE’RE GOING TO BE OKAY.”

He only hoped that saying it would help make it true. 


End file.
